Archive of Our Own

“You know, it’s rude not to reply to an RSVP - it’s in the name; répondez s'il vous plaît. ”

Hermione yelped, reaching to catch her inkwell and one of her framed photos as Theodore Nott perched himself on her desk, paying no heed to the items littered about its surface. Never mind that her office, despite its small size, had multiple seating options, including two very comfy seats facing her desk and a small chaise in the corner.

“Theo,” Hermione groused. “I did reply - I told you in-person last week that I wouldn’t be able to make it. Now get off my desk!”

She looked up at him as he beamed, but remained unmoved. The narrowing of her eyes and pursed lips seemed to just make his grin wider.

“Oh, come on, Hermie,” Theo pouted, his eyes wide.

“Don’t call me that!”

“Oh, darling, don’t be a spoil sport. It’s Lupercalia! I’m throwing a feast, paying the elves triple, you know! It’s going to be a grand event; an extravaganza, if you will!” He swung his arms out, gesticulating widely, sending a photo flying from the desk. Hermione lamented the loss of the framed photo of her and her friends at Harry and Ginny’s wedding. The loud smash reverberated through her tiny office.

“Theo, I don’t have time. I have a million things to do - “

“Yes, yes, I know, saving the bow truckles, ridding the world of evil, all that fascinating stuff,” he said flatly, inspecting his nails.

Hermione could feel a Theo-induced headache coming on; it was exactly like a tension headache, only it was accompanied by the presence of a pain in her arse.

“Theo, I don’t celebrate Lupercalia, ” she stated, slowly, as if she were talking to a child. “Do you even know how it’s celebrated?”

“Of course! We feast, we fuck, do a bit of a blood ritual - all in a day’s work,” he said, plucking the quill from her hand, twirling it in the air.

She snatched it back from him. “I don’t do blood rituals! And I am not joining in on an orgy!”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, darling! In your dreams! No, no! I put it on the invitation; ‘a night of drinking, frivolity, and feasting. No blood rituals.’”

“Regardless, I don’t have time to come to your Valentine’s Day party, Theo.” Hermione turned her attention back to the documents in front of her, her quill dancing as she dashed her signature across the line.

“You know,” Theo began, leaning closer. “Draco will be there…”

At the mention of his name, Hermione stiffened, frantically trying to school her features into something resembling apathy. “Quelle surprise,” she said.

“And you know, it’s the most romantic holiday of the year…”

It’s not, she thought, her mind drifting to a New Year’s Eve sometime in the past, and a quiet kiss in a kitchen, kicking her year off feeling like she’d been hit by a confundus, followed by months of silent pining.

“Pansy and I have worked so hard, and everyone else is coming! Even Ginevra and Potter have said they’ll be in attendance!”

“I’m busy,” she repeated.

“But -”

“Theo, I truly hate repeating myself more than once.”

“Hermione, please. Just come. Stay for dinner and if you need to leave early, no harm!”

She closed her eyes, heaving a resigned sigh. He wasn’t going to let up until she agreed, that much she knew. “ Fine,” she relented. “Now will you please leave so I can get some work done?”

Theo’s face split into a wide, almost wolfish grin. “Of course, darling.” He leapt from the edge of her desk, bending down to plant a kiss on the top of her head. “Blaise and I will see you at six - dinner’s at seven!”

She nodded distractedly, having already switched her attention back to her work. She waved him away as he stepped towards the door. Just as it was about to close, he popped his head back through.

Hermione rolled her eyes, trying to quell her irritation. “What, Theo?”

She looked at him, only his curly, brown head sticking through the door, like a member of the Headless Hunt.

“I forgot; Pansy was looking for you earlier. She’s in the Potioneering Lab for Percy and wanted your input.” And just like that, the floating head disappeared and her door clicked shut.

With a growl, Hermione put her quill down once more, frustrated by her friends’ desire to impede her ability to do any work today.

She wedged her feet back into her heels, rising up from her chair, and pulling her robes back on over her skirt and shirt. As she stepped to the door, she took one look at herself in the small, round mirror on the wall, smoothing down the errant curls that had escaped her twisted up-do.

With a final nod to herself, she swept from the room and made her way to the lifts, squeezing into the crowded cage. “Level Two, please,” she said to the wizard standing next to the panel.

As the lift began to move, Hermione braced herself for the jerky motion, her mind racing through her ever-growing to-do list.

What could the Aurors be investigating that Percy Weasley is now involved? And why does Pansy think that I could help?

The lift dinged loudly, a voice announcing, ‘ Level Two: Department of Magical Law Enforcement. ’

Shaking her head, Hermione stepped out and made her way through the madness that was the Auror’s department, paper planes whizzing above her head, conversations blending into a dull roar, and the occasional CRACK of apparition.

As she made her way to the Investigation Department, she marvelled at how some people could even think with this much stimulation. She’d done enough of that in the war, thankyouverymuch .

At the end of the hall, largely separate from the rest of the department, the Potioneering Lab was a haven of order and quiet in comparison to the Aurors’ Carnival of Chaos.

Hermione loved the way that everything in the lab had a place, how it felt like a perfect blend of the Hogwarts potions dungeon and a modern, sleek laboratory, like on the Muggle detective programmes her father liked.

Her eyes roved over the various cauldrons bubbling, labelled jars of ingredients lining the shelves, supplies perfectly laid out across the counters, the pointy blonde standing in the corner —wait.

“Malfoy.”

Grey eyes flicked up from the open book in his hands. His stare rooted her to the spot. “Granger,” he drawled, sending a shiver up Hermione’s spine.

The book snapped shut in his palm. Before she could stop herself, Hermione gazed at his hands, tracing the shape of the signet ring on his pinky. She took the rest of him in - lean body, broad shoulders, pointy features he’d grown into since Hogwarts. And Gods, he was wearing his wand holster. Her stomach flipped. Setting the book back on the shelf, his movement brought her senses back to herself.

“Where’s Pansy?” She stepped over to a bubbling cauldron, leaning forward to inspect its contents; anything to avoid looking at him.

“I’m not sure,” he finally said. “I was told the results for the test on the potions we found in a raid was finished, but neither Pansy nor the Potioneering team seem to be…available.”

“Oh.”

Silence enveloped them and Hermione worried on her bottom lip, running through potential conversation starters, none of which seemed entirely appropriate for an enemy-turned-colleague-turned-acquaintance-slash-friend-adjacent.

In fact, could you really say someone who kissed you was ‘friend-adjacent?’ She supposed you could, if the kiss was merely an obligatory ‘Happy New Years’ one…

She half-wanted to pose the question to the man himself, but upon peaking up at him, she thought better of it.

Hermione glanced at her wristwatch, feeling as though she could hear the gentle tick of the minute hand, cursing the awkwardness and wondering how much trouble she could potentially get in for hexing the Secretary of the Undersecretary of International Magical Cooperation.

As long as I don’t get fired, it could be worth it, she mused.

After another moment of painful silence, Draco sighed. “I don’t have time for this,” he muttered. “Please tell Bones and Davies that I’ll be back down later.”

Hermione balked as he opened the door, striding to beat him out into the hall. “As if I have time to waste being your personal assistant? Tell them yourself,” she seethed. 

Suddenly, the door slammed in front of them, and the sound of a key in the lock made them both freeze.

“No! No no no no…” Hermione jiggled the brass handle to no avail. Pointing her wand at the door, she tried every variant of alohamora she could remember, just shy of blasting the door off its hinges.The door wouldn’t budge. Her frustration, coupled with a horrendous sense of claustrophobia, seemingly doubled.

She banged her fists on the door. “Help! The door’s stuck! Can someone let us out?! Hello?!”

Draco made his way back to the counter and chuckled. “They can’t hear you, Granger. The Aurors’ Department is simply too loud,” he said, cooly.

Hermione seethed. How dare he be calm when they were stuck here.

“At least I’m trying, ” she snarled. “If you’re so clever, do something.” He quirked an eyebrow at her, a bemused expression colouring his features as her temper flared.

“Go on then,” she goaded.

He ran a tongue along his canines and for a moment, Hermione’s brain short-circuited. Draco let out a long-suffering sigh. “Well, if you’d stop banging on the door and screeching like a Banshee, perhaps you’d have noticed this,” he said, gesturing to something on the work surface. Scoffing at his comparison, Hermione stomped over to his side, curiosity winning out over her irritation.

Sitting innocuously on the counter, two tubes had appeared, a cork beaker at either end with a wax seal on the top. Next to it, a note, in beautiful, tidy script read, “Drink me now, thank me later. Pansy x”

Hermione picked up one of the phials, inspecting it. The liquid inside was a luminescent, shades of blue and violet swimming around in the jar.

 “I don’t know this potion,” Hermione said. She glanced at Draco, just in time to watch him tear the wax seal off and pull the cork out.

“ Wait!” Hermione grabbed his wrist, stopping him as he brought it to his mouth.

Draco rolled his eyes, allowing his arm to be pulled down. “What, Granger?”

“You’re not seriously going to drink that,” she said, incredulous. “You have no idea what it is or if it’s even really from Pansy!”

He smirked. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I don’t know what it is. But I do know it’s from Pansy.”

“Malfoy, that could be anything, and someone could have easily forged Pansy’s handwriting!”

His smirk grew into a smile and he nodded slowly, conceding. “You’re right, they could have.”

He made another move to raise the phial to his lips and Hermione’s fingers dug into the cuffs of his crisp Oxford shirt. 

“Malfoy!” She admonished, “If you know I’m right, why would you even try to drink it?!”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he observed her white-knuckle grip. 

“Oh, Granger, while you make a fair point, I know this is from Pansy, because that’s her seal on the wax.”She didn’t remove her hand from his arm, just watched him.With his other hand, he lifted the discarded cork and seal, tilting it towards her.

There, embedded in the silver wax, was the letter ‘P,’ swirled with a pansy and three small stars at the top, all surrounded by the circle of the signet, broken slightly by a small chip. It was missing the three feathers in the Parkinson family crest. Hermione shook her head and was about to point out the error to Draco.

“She decided to forgo the feathers for her namesake flower,” Draco explained, also looking down at the seal. “But see that chip, there?”

Hermione’s eyes traced the flaw once more and she nodded, her brow furrowing as she inspected it.

“That chipped when her own father threw her against a wall during the Battle. She’s never had it fixed, as a reminder.”

Hermione’s features softened. “Oh,” she whispered, relaxing her grip on his arm. Draco nodded.

“So it’s definitely from her. And whatever this is, she won’t stop until we do as she says. Pansy’s quite stubborn,” he said.

Hermione reared back. “I’m not drinking that. And I don’t think you should either! It could be anything!”

“I hardly think it’s belladonna,” Draco scoffed. “I trust Pansy. It will be fine.”

Lifting the phial of liquid to his lips once more, he knocks it back and Hermione’s jaw drops as he places the empty tube back on the counter. She stared at him, mouth agape, as if she expected him to drop dead, begin foaming at the mouth, or suddenly grow a tail. Perhaps all three, in whatever order.

He grinned, smug. “See? Fine.” Suddenly, he dropped to the floor. Hermione let out a scream, lurching forward to catch him. His shoulders shook and as she frantically leaned over him, trying to assess what happened, Draco began to laugh in earnest. Sitting back on her heels, Hermione watched him in horror. She shoved his shoulder. 

“Ugh! You arse!”

He caught himself, leaning back on his shoulder, making no move to get up from the floor. His cheeks flushed with amusement, his eyes gleaming with mischief and locked on hers.

“Now, Granger…Were you worried about me?” Hermione’s stomach began doing somersaults again. A strand of hair rested on his forehead and even in her annoyance, Hermione wanted to push it back for him. She wanted to tell him that she only worried about him when he was being an idiot, which she supposed was most of the time.

Her anger won, however, and she was fuming.

Her magic was crackling through the loose strands of her hair as she shoved up from the floor. 

“How dare you! Of all the stupid things you could do! You drank an unknown potion! And then! Then, you pretend to collapse! And you have the nerve to laugh!”

He rolled his eyes, lifting himself up off the floor. “Oh, lighten up, Granger.”

“Anything could have happened! You have no idea what that could do!”

Her cheeks and the tips of her ears burned, anger flooding her body. However, Hermione truly saw red when she looked at Draco and found him grinning at her.

How dare he find this funny, she seethed. 

She raised a hand to shove his shoulder once more, to show him she meant business. His hand clasped her wrist and her breath caught.

“Malfoy!”

“Draco,” he corrected, bringing her wrist to his lips. He planted a kiss along the veins and she blinked, astounded.

“Um, Draco?”

“Mm?” He murmured, lifting his eyes to hers, his mouth pressing another kiss to her wrist, followed by the gentle drag of his teeth along her skin. A breathy sigh escapes before she can stop it. Draco released her wrist, instead reaching for her waist to pull her closer. Hermione stared up at him, her eyes wide as saucers as she watched him. She was searching for a joke, or even a hint that it was a joke. 

“Are you…alright?”

He gave her a soft smile, leaning closer, until they were nose to nose. 

“Fantastic,” he whispered, pressing his lips to hers. His lips were soft and warm. Hermione couldn't help but melt into his arms as he deepened the kiss, his arm tightening around her waist. One of his hands lifted to get hair and tangled in her curls. His tongue touched her bottom lip and she gasped. They became a blur of lips, teeth, tongues, and hands. Her robes fell and pooled into a pile on the floor. Her hair became undone. His tie was loosened by her hands. His cheeks grew flushed.

Draco pulled back, her lips tingled at the loss of contact, the absence of his lips. He lifted her onto the counter and quickly reconnected their lips. Hermione was no longer craning to reach him, allowing her arms to wrap around his neck, enthusiastically as she kissed him back. He tugged on her hair, tilting her head back as he moved his lips to her neck.

She moaned as Draco’s tongue skated along her skin, followed by nips that she knew would leave marks. She couldn't quite remember why she cared. Hermione tugged at his tie, pulling it fully undone and tossing it behind him. 

As he continued to lavish at her neck, her fingers nimbly began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“So beautiful,” Draco murmured, his lips moving lower as he undid her buttons, presumably giving up on freeing the shirt from the confines of her skirt.

“Absolutely perfect,” he continued. 

“Knew you would be like this,” he sighed. He ran his tongue over the top of her breast, along the edge of her bra.

Hermione’s nails dug into his shoulders. She didn't know if she could take anymore of this as the heat pooled in her core. She became giddy with desire, her hands sliding down him reaching down to his belt. 

Draco Malfoy was touching her. He was kissing her. Draco Malfoy is going to fuck her.

“You’re amazing,” he moaned against her lips. The tone of his voice made Hermione freeze. 

He sounded…odd. She pulled back and his eyes fluttered open. She blinked once, twice. As if blinking would restore her logic. His eyes looked glassy and he had a dreamy look on his face.

Lust. The potion, Hermione’s mind supplied. The thought slammed into her like the Hogwarts Express. It’s a lust potion.

She pressed her hands into his chest and pushed him back. He stepped back without fuss, but his face betrayed his confusion.

“Hermione?”

“We can’t,” she said firmly, sliding down from the edge of the table. “Draco, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t realise. I’d have never let it get this far if I’d -”

She made quick work of the buttons on her shirt, tucking the hem back into her skirt.

“Why? Hermione, what’s going on?” He reached for her, but she could barely stand to look at him, her eyes swimming with tears.

“Draco, you’re not yourself and this is…this is wrong. I’m so sorry,” she said hurriedly, grabbing her cloak from the floor.

She rushed to the door. He caught her by the wrist.

“Hermione, what do you mean? What’s wrong?”

His eyes implored hers. A sob of pain was caught in her throat. 

“I have to go,” she said, pulling her arm away. She pulled at the door handle and found it was still locked. She could feel the panic being trapped in this room, in this situation. She pushed him back. 

He stumbled behind her and she flicked her wand, shouting a frantic, “ Bombarda!”

The door bursted off its hinges, splinters flying every direction. Hermione couldn't find it in herself to care as she raced from the room. Her heels clacking in fury against the floor with each step.

“Hermione? Hermione!”

She ignored him, the singular thought was of the safety in her office. 

As she rounded the corner, Pansy came into view, grinning. “Well? How did it —? Hermione?"

Hermione shoved past her, desperate to be anywhere but here. 

“Hermione? What’s the matter?” Pansy asked, heels clicking in time to keep up with the other witch.

Hermione froze, causing Pansy to run into her back. Whirling around, Hermione took great pleasure in seeing Pansy rear back, her eyes wide. 

“How could you do something like that? Not just to me, but to him?!” Hermione tried to hold back her tears as she spoke. 

“What? What do you mean?” Pansy’s eyes searched Hermione’s face.

“Did you think it was funny? Because it wasn’t! It was just cruel!”

“Of course not! Hermione, we just wanted —”

“We?! Oh, so he was in on it, was he?! That’s brilliant! Just wonderful!”

Hermione began to stalk away, anger radiating from her, like heat from a fire.

“No! Hermione! Wait!”

Whirling around once more, Hermione’s eyes were ablaze as she looked at Pansy. 

“I know we weren’t friends in school, but I never imagined that even you could be this cruel, Parkinson.” 

Pansy blinked, speechless. She couldn’t find the words, even as Hermione stared the witch down. “I don’t have time for your games. I have work to do.”

It was only when Hermione was at the lifts that Pansy could even whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Once she was back in the safety of her office, Hermione paced across her small rug, trying to pull all of the events together. 

It didn’t make any sense. Draco Malfoy didn’t want her.

Hermione's mind was racing as she reasoned that her friends, realising her feelings for Draco, must have said something to him. And oh, how he must have had a laugh. She was absolutely mortified.

Did he  pretend to ingest a lust potion to humiliate her? Or had he consumed one because that’s the only way he could stand to touch her?

It didn’t matter which it was, she decided.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she would not cry at work.

Hermione quickly dashed off a memo to her boss, telling him she felt unwell. She then cast a Disillusionment spell to get herself to the floo.

Back at home, she shut her own floo off from the network, hoping to avoid any visitors.

It was only in the confines of her living room that Hermione allowed herself to fall apart. Sitting on her sofa, head in her hands, she cried. She sobbed at the betrayal, the humiliation, and, in a way that made her pride want to shrivel up and die, full of rejection.

Multiple owls tapped at her window, growing more and more insistent as the night wore on, but Hermione refused all mail.

She merely took herself up to bed, pulling the covers over her head. She spoke out prayers to Circe, Lillith, Hecate, hell, even God, that this terrible, awful day would be over quickly. 

“‘Mione? ‘Mione, love, come on…It’s time to get up,” a voice murmured.

Hermione groaned into her pillow. “In a minute,” she grumbled, wiggling further into the covers.

“‘Mione, don’t make me employ the Molly Weasley method,” the voice admonished.

She groaned again. “Ginny, go away.”

“No.”

“Gin, please. I don’t feel well.”

“You’ll feel a lot better if you get out of that bed and face the day.”

Under the covers, Hermione rolls her eyes. She relented, sitting up and staring at the redhead who was perched on the end of her bed, with a solemn expression on her face.

Hermione realised Ginny already knew. Her bottom lip trembled and Ginny sighed, gathering Hermione into a hug. 

“Oh, love…”

Hermione cried as she proceeded to tell Ginny everything. Ginny, for her part, listened quietly, only stopping her to ask if she’d spoken to Draco since.

Hermione shook her head. “I just want to forget it ever happened.”

“Hermione, you’ll have to face him sometime.”

Hermione nodded. “I know. I just…I need the weekend to wallow, then I’ll go into work and just…I don’t know, avoid Slytherins as best as I can until I can’t anymore.”

Ginny frowned, but agreed to give her the weekend to wallow.

After a day of padding around at home, Hermione woke up the next morning to find the sting had lessened to a dull ache, and all she wanted now was coffee. Stepping into the kitchen, she eyed the calendar, noting the flat arrival of Valentine’s Day. She wanted to blast the image of a kitten in a bouquet of roses off the wall but she didn’t.

Instead, she sipped her coffee, fed Crookshanks, and decided to curl up with a book; perhaps something gory, just to really ram the point home.

A tawny owl tapped at her window and she obliged, opening it for him. As she reached for the envelope strapped to its leg, it nipped her. She hissed, withdrawing her hand. “Ouch! I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t want to talk to anyone!”

For a moment, Hermione was certain the owl rolled its eyes. As soon as the letter was in her hand, the owl flew off, clearly unwilling to wait for her reply.

Hermione grimaced upon seeing the silver seal that belonged to Pansy.  She scoffed, tossing the letter aside.

A buzz cut through her bitter thoughts, and Hermione darted through to the front door of the cottage. 

Perhaps her muggle mail man or a neighbour , she mused.

She looked through the peephole, letting out a gasp upon seeing Draco standing at her front step. She stepped back from the door, doing her best to be as quiet as a church mouse.

“Granger? Are you there?” He called out.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sound of her shaky breathing.

Hermione quickly ran through her appearance, from her fuzzy slippers to her slouchy track pants and one of Ron’s old sweatshirts. She grimaced.

“Granger? I know you’re home! I can see smoke coming from the chimney! Don’t make me cast a revelio! Or worse, try to break your wards!”

She yelped, wrenching the door open. Draco startled, stepping back as he lets his eyes scan over her.

“Are you mad?! Are you trying to get arrested?! The muggles will hear you!”

He smirked, giving her a small shrug. “Got you to open the door.”

Hermione stared at him; he donned on a lovely black wool coat, a dark grey jumper, denims, and dragonhide boots. She could have screamed. No one should look that good first thing in the morning. She resisted the urge to tug on her sweatshirt.

“May I come in?” His eyes were hopeful. Even with the pain in her, she couldn't imagine slamming the door in his face. She shrugged, but stepped aside nonetheless.

He ducked his head as he stepped into the cottage, dusting off the snow from his shoulders. Hermione stepped around him, wandering back to the kitchen. She was never more aware of her home than at that moment. 

It was small, filled with cosy bric-a-brac, books, and photos. While she was normally proud of her home, she suddenly wanted to push him back outside and lock him out before he could see any more of it. 

Seeing him standing in her kitchen doorway felt unnatural. She gestured to the French press and he dipped his chin in agreement. She poured him a cup of coffee and placed the mug on the table in front of him.

“We need to talk about yesterday,” he said, taking a seat at the rickety dining table.

“Why?” Her fingers tapped on the side of her own mug. She stared down into the liquid, refusing to look at him.

“Because you ran away, clearly upset. I think it’s worth discussing,” Draco stated. A cursory glance revealed that he was in fact watching her.

Hermione gnawed at her bottom lip, already tender from all the worrying she’d done on it in the last twenty four hours.

“Granger, I —”

“Were you in on it? Is that why you drank it? Because you knew?” Her heart was hammering in her chest. She almost wanted to clasp her hands over her ears and shout, ‘ Never mind! I don’t want to know!’

“No! Of course I wasn’t!” His eyebrows were so high, almost hitting his hair. “If I’d known what it was, I’d have never…!”

 He looked imploringly at her, as if begging her to believe him. Hermione nodded resolutely, lifting her cup to take a sip of coffee, though it went down her throat like a chunk of lead. She felt like someone had ripped her heart out and thrown it at the wall. She was relieved he wasn’t involved.

Of course he would never have touched her if it weren’t for a lust potion. The prick of tears started at the back of her head, and she pursed her lips together to stop them from falling.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last.

Draco’s eyes widened. “ You’re sorry? Whatever for?”

“Well, I didn’t um…I didn’t realise you were under the influence of a lust potion…Though that’s no excuse! My behaviour was…It was unforgivable for me to allow such a carry-on.”

She looked down at his hands, spread on the table.

She couldn't look at him. She was horrified that she allowed their tryst to happen. She was even more mortified that her biggest regret was that it wasn't even real. 

“Granger, you really don’t need to apologise. Pansy —”

“I’m so angry with her,” Hermione interrupted, suddenly sitting up taller. “What she did was highly illegal, morally bankrupt, and, and….well, it was unkind. ”

Draco blinked at her, dumbfounded. “Um.”

“You don’t look remotely angry with her. How can you be so unbothered?” Once more, the calmness Draco displayed stoked the furling edges of Hermione’s rage.

“Who says I’m not angry with Pansy? I’m livid with her! Dosing me with an Uninhibitor —”

The emotion in his voice made Hermione’s eyes snap to his. “An Uninhibitor? I thought it was a Lust potion.”

“What I did to you…without your consent…It’s wrong. It’s not the gentlemanly way to proceed,” he continued, undeterred. “I was….Well, despite what you may think about my family, it’s not how I was raised. Merlin, Granger, if anyone should be apologising, it’s me. That’s not how a gentleman courts a lady.”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to stare, wide-eyed, as she tried to process what he just said. Her mind was reeling.

“For someone so bright, you really are oblivious.” 

Hermione’s jaw dropped in outrage. “I beg your pardon —”

“What Pansy did was…Well, it was bang out of order, and while I’m angry with her, she’s explained and I understand,” he admitted,  sounding almost begrudging.

Hermione watched him; she could practically see the gears turning in his mind, as he tried to pull the words together. “I’m sorry for how it happened, but not that it did.

“If it had been up to me, I’d have charmed you with a dinner at an expensive restaurant, shameless flirting - on my part, of course, followed by an evening stroll, leading us back to your door, where I would kiss you goodnight…and go home, like a gentleman.”

Hermione was dumbstruck. All she could do was stare at him, looking for any trace of a lie. But his face was earnest in its hope.

Her heart raced.

She shook her head. “No."

“Oh. Well, of course, that’s all assuming you would agree to a date with —”

“No, I mean, you’re mad if you think I would let you leave after you kiss me.” Her cheeks burned, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. 

He rose from the table, took her hand, and pulled her to stand up with him, his eyes never leaving hers. “Hermione,” he breathed.

A burst of courage rippled through her, and she pushed onto her toes, pulling him down to meet her. Their lips met.

And suddenly, it was midnight, a chaste kiss and a hurriedly whispered, “Happy New Years.” It was the stolen glances. The pangs of want. It was a potions lab and the feverish kisses.

It was Valentine’s Day and Draco Malfoy was in her kitchen, kissing her senseless.

Theo grinned as he read the letter, turning to his guests. The room was decorated in vibrant red, with silver candlesticks and garlands of flowers spanning the length of the table.

“Mopsy,” he called and an elf appeared with a POP!

“Yes, sir?” She stared up at him with wide eyes.

“Please clear Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy’s places at the dining table. They won’t be attending.”

A solemn Pansy looked up from her plate, as the rest of the table fell quiet.

“Yes, sir,” the elf said, setting about the task.

Theo stood at the head of the table, cleared his throat, then cheerily announced, “It would appear Draco and Hermione have decided to celebrate Lupercalia in a more…traditional way, after all.”

Blaise and Ginny both snickered while Harry and Ron grimaced. Pansy’s jaw dropped.

“See, love? I told you it would all be okay,” Percy said, squeezing her hand on the table.

She turned to him, snapping her mouth closed and primly adjusting the serviette on her lap. “Yes, well, I told you it would work. It’s just rather unfortunate that Granger’s brain jumps to the worst conclusion before she —”

“Oh and Pansy?” Theo called.

“Hmm?”

“She says she’s sorry for doubting you.”

Pansy’s shoulders sagged in relief and Percy lifted her hand to kiss it. “Well done.”

Blaise smirked. “Yes, well done, Pansy…and Senior Undersecretary.” Percy flushed.

“Yeah, Perce, I can’t believe you of all people actually got involved in one of Pansy’s schemes!” Ginny exclaimed.

The tips of Percy’s ears were so red, they blended into his hair. He shrugged sheepishly. “She can be very convincing when she wants to be…”

A pink stain covered Pansy’s cheeks as the table roared with laughter.