Archive of Our Own

At least the Valentine's Day delivery arrived early. Hermione managed to stash and conceal the ridiculous bouquet of roses beneath her desk before anyone else arrived — not an easy task because there were thirty-six.

To be fair, she had only stashed thirty-five of them. She clutched the thirty-sixth in her hand as she stomped her way down the Level Three corridor. By the time she neared the end, it narrowed so tightly that her stomping became more of a sideways shuffle, until she stood in front of an office barely larger than a broom cupboard.

The door was closed. A scratched wooden sign read MUGGLE-WORTHY EXCUSE COMMITTEE. A parchment was Spello-taped beneath, bearing, in pretentious penmanship, the notice:

Hermione ripped down the parchment, stuffed it in her pocket, and barged in on the office's sole occupant.

"What is this?" she demanded, brandishing the rose like a wand. And indeed, it emitted a few sparks from its green petals, which were tipped with a thin, sparkly hint of Gryffindor red.

A blond head glanced up only momentarily before drawling, "Is this a trick question? Because it looks like—"

"Yes, I know it's a rose," she spat. "But what is it? Some kind of trick?"

"Who would want to trick you?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe you?"

"But why?"

"Because you're Draco Malfoy?"

"Well-spotted. Don't spread it around." Draco signed a parchment with a flourish and tossed it aside, beginning work on another. "I hear he has a bad reputation."

Hermione's wand arm fell to her side, the sparks gone. "Draco. I know you sent them."

His head was still bowed, but she caught the faintest hint of a smirk. "What gave me away? The color? I did think the standard red might be inappropriate. Although I couldn't resist some embellishment. It is, after all, my area of expertise."

Hermione snorted.

"What?" he shot defensively.

"Your area of expertise? Please. I've seen the memos from this office. Aliens this and aliens that. Careful or you'll turn into a one-trick pony."

Draco's peacock-feather quill danced over another signature. "I am merely following in my illustrious predecessor's footsteps. Apparently, Muggles have a bizarre fascination with extra-terrestrial life." His voice lowered to a grumble. "They'd believe in anything before magic, I suppose."

"Don't change the subject," Hermione snapped. "If this is about that Rickham business..." She softened, in spite of herself. "I've said already you don't owe me anything for that, all right? I was glad to help. You had no choice but to Obliviate him, and you know I find it terribly unfair that they ask you to spin all these tales yet refuse to give you full department clearance to carry out necessary duties. In fact," she added, now in her stride, "I’ve sent more than one strongly worded memo on the matter."

"I don’t need your help, Granger. I am perfectly content—" He glanced up with a flash of a smile. "—spinning tales."

"Well then, if you're only trying to antagonize—"

"I am not trying to antagonize anyone," Draco cut across her. His feigned offense quickly morphed into another smirk, and again he went back to work. "Well, not like that."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "Then this can only be about..."

"About what?"

"You know what."

"Despite what you think, I am actually not a mind-reader."

Hermione felt a blush creep across her cheeks, but she tipped her chin up and looked Draco in the eye. "It's about the kiss, isn't it?"

He dropped his quill. There was barely room to move in the office, yet he stood and rounded his desk with Seeker agility until they were standing nearly right on top of each other, giving Hermione a sharp reminder of how tall he had grown.

Images flashed in her mind of him bending down, down... the surreal moment in which his jaw had tightened, and he had cocked his head in question... the even more surreal moment in which she had stretched her head those last few inches upwards and...

"What kiss?" Draco asked in a near whisper. "If I recall correctly, we both agreed that didn't happen."

"We did," Hermione said, fighting the memory of his fingers in her hair, the rhythm of his lips, the questing nudge of his knee between her thighs...

"And we swore we would never speak of it again."

"Exactly." She blew a deep breath in and out. "Because it was clearly a moment of temporary insanity. A necessary convenience — inconvenience, rather — and certainly nothing that would merit three dozen..." She again brandished the rose in front of him. "Which is why I thought it must be some sort of trick, and why, of course, I couldn't possibly accept them."

"Fair enough," Draco said with a shrug, plucking the rose out of her hand. "But Granger, if I wanted to trick you..."

He circled the red tip of the tightly closed rosebud with one fingertip, and it slowly opened.

"...if I wanted to make someone jealous..."

He snapped the stem until only about three inches remained.

"...if I wanted another inconvenient and easily forgotten kiss..."

He inhaled deeply from the rose.

"I could think of far more efficient and entertaining ways to accomplish all of those things."

She had no doubt.

"But I'm sure you would see right through them."

"Indeed."

"And head me off at the pass."

"Yes."

"So you could just see this as a simple gift." Draco eased the shortened stem into her hair and took a moment to arrange it before slipping back around his desk and settling back to his work. "No strings attached."

"No strings attached," Hermione repeated firmly.

"Although I have to say, anyway you spin it..."

She felt a flutter deep in her belly as Draco's eyes went to the bloom in her hair.

"...you can't deny green looks good on you."