Author's Note: Hello everyone! This is a three-part bit of Cormac/Hermione Valentine's Day nonsense. A little while ago, my dear friend Frumpologist made me a bingo card and one of the squares was Cormac McLaggen. I did not mean to write three chapters on it, but here we are. This story is complete, and the subsequent chapters will shared this week (Tuesday/Thursday or something like that); Monday's chapter of Nocturnus will not be affected.

This fic isn't alpha'd or beta'd, so any mistakes are my own, but pre-reading hugs to Frump for being such a cheerleader.

Additional fun fact: this entire first chapter was sprinted during three quarters of the Superbowl :D

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Digging the heels of her palms into her eyes, Hermione Granger released a sigh and rose from her desk. Setting the report she'd spent the last three hours poring over aside, she rolled out her neck, stretching as she stifled a yawn.

The majority of the Department of Magical Transportation would be clearing out shortly, but Hermione was anxious to finish her part in this report as soon as possible, which would mean another long night after hours.

The longer this project was active, the more time she would have to spend with her co-lead.

Hermione had yet to decide whether or not that was a good thing.

Despite the abysmal circumstances around their youthful dalliance at Hogwarts, Hermione had never quite figured out Cormac McLaggen. He was pompous, overzealous, and quite frankly, a bit of a peacock.

But ever since they had begun working together in the same department three years prior, she had started to notice other things about him.

Like the genuine way with which he spoke to the trio of older ladies who ran the administration desk. How he was always the first to step up and help out when a situation arose. And how, despite his ferociously attractive looks, she had never seen him act like a prat to anyone.

Sometimes she forgot McLaggen had been a Gryffindor—but during her time at Hogwarts, her opinions of him had been negatively coloured by a fledgling interest in Ron.

Perhaps she had never given him a fair chance.

While they had dated for a brief period of time during her sixth year, it had been little more than a few study sessions and a handful of stolen kisses.

And now, as a woman in her mid-twenties, she often couldn't keep her thoughts from drifting towards him. The cheeky, private grin he always offered her didn't help matters, when she made every effort to keep things professional.

Stowing the untoward thoughts to the side, she collected the pages of her report and ventured from her office, down the hall en route to his. They had been working together on a proposal for a new framework for international Floo travel—it wasn't altogether exciting, but it was a means to get noticed by the head of the department.

But she found him instead in the central atrium of the department, leaning on an empty desk with his arms folded across his chest, in conversation with several of their co-workers.

Cormac was the social butterfly—always had been—while Hermione was far more of a workhorse.

Squaring her shoulders and straightening her jaw, she stood to the side, report clutched to her chest. After a prolonged moment, Cormac noticed her, standing upright and offering her a slow grin. The rest of the group dissipated as the end of the day neared, until it was just the pair of them. Her skin prickled.

"Hermione," he greeted. "I was just on my way to find you. Got distracted; you know how it goes."

And this was why nothing would ever happen between them. With a facsimile of a smile, she nodded. "Excellent. The draft is ready for your revisions."

He took the report from her, and she couldn't help the way she watched his hands as he flipped through the draft with a cursory glance. His blue eyes snapped up towards hers and she released a breath, willing away the flush of warmth in her cheeks.

While Cormac's curly hair might have looked juvenile on anyone else, it gave him a sort of roguish, approachable look. His voice was low as he murmured, "I can't imagine I'll need to make many revisions to your work."

Without fail, he consistently knocked her off her guard, despite her best efforts.

"Thank you," she said, voice breathier than she intended.

Gesturing towards his office, he asked, "Do you have a moment? I'd like to discuss something."

"Of course." Fixing her expression into one of serious professionalism, she walked at his side towards his office, feeling an uncomfortable tension in her shoulders. "Is something the matter?"

"Not at all."

When he didn't elaborate any further, Hermione dragged her bottom lip between her teeth. Cormac was several inches taller than her, even with her heels, and he left her feeling at odds with herself.

The last of their co-workers were trickling out as they walked the length of the corridor, finally arriving at his office. Making to step through the threshold, Hermione froze as something caught in her periphery.

Slowly, her gaze dragged up to the top of the doorframe.

"Cormac," she mused, a knit pulling between her brows, "is that… magical mistletoe?"

"What?" Blinking, he followed her stare, before waving a dismissive hand. "Of course not. The Ministry doesn't allow mistletoe in the departments anymore."

"I know that," she eased carefully, "but why is it hanging here?"

"It's for decoration."

Grimacing, she attempted to understand his line of reasoning. "Cormac, it's February."

Confused blue eyes blinked at her. "I know that."

"Sooo…" She trailed off, feeling uneasy, and unwilling to cross the threshold. Magical mistletoe was well known to ensnare, and she had no intentions of allowing that to happen, after hours, and alone with Cormac McLaggen.

Even though she would be lying to say she hadn't thought of kissing him a dozen or so times since they had started working closely together.

Frowning, she leaned one hip against the wall across from his door. "I'm not walking beneath it."

Cormac shrugged. "Fine. We'll have this discussion in the hallway, although I'd prefer in my office. It isn't mistletoe—see; it doesn't have berries."

When Hermione squinted to see closer, she realised he was being truthful. But still, the plant itself looked like a sprig of mistletoe. "So, what—the berries have been disillusioned to look like hearts?"

"Something like that." He flashed her a winning smile, and Hermione fought the urge to groan. "Like you've said, it's February. Valentine's Day and all that."

Another reason why things would never work out between them, and it was about time she dropped the stupid schoolgirl infatuation.

Steadying herself once more, she snipped, "I don't care for Valentine's Day."

Cormac's face fell. "Don't all women?" When her eyes widened at the generalisation, he chuckled, holding up a hand. "I'm only teasing. We went to school together for six years, remember? I know you were never one of those girls."

The casual reference to their school years together, along with the inference that he'd been watching her closely, left an uncomfortable lump in her throat as she forced a nod. "So it isn't… magical."

"Nope." His lips popped on the 'p' sound. "I promise you won't get stuck beneath it."

Releasing a sigh, Hermione stepped forward. A small voice in the back of her head suggested it wouldn't be terrible if they were trapped. But she shook it off; they were co-workers, and nothing more, even if they had shared a short-lived fling as teenagers.

Even so, she wasn't certain she trusted his motives—honestly, who hung mistletoe in February anyways, even if it had been magically altered? She edged through the doorway, keeping her back to the frame so as to slip alongside the direct area beneath it.

Cormac cracked a grin and followed her through; Hermione deflated, feeling ridiculous for having overreacted.

"You know," he said, leaning against the wall with a cheeky grin, "it does bring back memories, doesn't it? You, me, mistletoe."

Her eyes tightened on him and she managed a thick swallow. "I suppose you're right. Shall we discuss the report?"

"Like I said," he mused, eyes crinkling, "I trust your revisions. I just wanted to speak with you about the next steps. We'll be presenting the proposal to the seniors of the department, as you know, but I spoke with Collins yesterday and he's going to bring in the Head of International Magical Cooperation as well. It's reasonable to expect that both departments will benefit from this."

"Oh," Hermione said, surprised that he'd taken the initiative. "That's great. Thanks, Cormac."

"I've arranged a meeting next week, so you and I can polish out any tweaks in the meantime."

The sparkle in his blue eyes as they met hers caught her off guard and she offered a voracious nod. Merlin, what was the matter with her? She never acted this way in front of the man.

"Great," she repeated, distracted, collecting her report back from his desk, given it seemed evident he wouldn't be looking at it tonight. "I'll just give this another round of edits before I call it a night here—"

"Nonsense," Cormac announced, waving her off. "You've been working hard enough as it is. Take an early night for once, yeah?"

Biting down on her lip to fight off a smile, Hermione dropped her head to the side. "Maybe I will. Thanks, Cor. See you tomorrow, then."

He flashed her that cocky grin that always twisted her stomach into knots without fail. Though she drew a tight breath, nothing happened when she passed once more through his doorway and she glanced up at the misapplied bit of decor as he followed her from the office.

"It is odd, you have to admit," she murmured, gazing at the green sprig with little red hearts. "Where did you get it from?"

"Told you, it's just a decoration. I like to get festive."

For some reason the words stirred something within her and she fought off a blush as she searched for a double entendre.

Leaning back against the wall, he added, "George gave it to me."

Hermione froze, startled eyes dropping to find his. "George Weasley?"

"Yeah." With a bit of a grimace, Cormac dragged a hand along the back of his neck. "He owls me now and again to grab a drink. Still struggles with the loss of Freddie somedays. I saw him last week, and I think the bloke was just grateful to have someone to talk to."

A twinge twisted in her stomach at the thought of George, even as warning bells pealed in the back of her mind.

"And he… gave you that."

Cormac gave a bit of a shrug, eyeing the decoration himself. "Georgie said it was something he made. I thought it looked nifty so I brought it here." He gave her a grin, as if the matter was finished.

The discomfort grew in her stomach as her eyes narrowed in on the innocuous looking plant. Nothing from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was for decoration only.

"Right," she managed, plastering a smile onto her lips. "It's nifty. Anyways, have a nice night, Cor."

His grin softened into something secretive and he nodded. "And you. See you tomorrow, Hermione."

She had to force herself not to run.

It took all of her nerves to drag herself into the Ministry the next day; with every step, Hermione expected some strange turn of events to catch her off her guard. Or worse, for something to cloud her mind.

She didn't know anything about Cormac's mysterious Valentine's mistletoe—and she hadn't wanted to ask George about it—but a cursory glance through their catalogue didn't show her anything of the sort. Which meant either the product was new or experimental.

And if Cormac had received it as a gift from George Weasley himself—Hermione shuddered to think about what she might have exposed herself to the night before. She could only imagine the sort of suspicious magic with which the plant had been imbued.

So much had she worked herself up over it that by the time Cormac rapped on the open doorframe of her office, she jumped so violently she nearly knocked a stack of books off her desk.

Turning towards the door, heart racing, she offered an uneasy smile. "Cormac. Come in, of course."

He cocked a single arched brow before edging into the office. "Everything alright? Did you sleep okay?"

"Fine," she returned, voice oddly high pitched. "Slept just fine. And you?"

His suspicion melted into a grin. "Like a baby." Cormac dropped into the seat across from hers at her desk, shifting some papers out of the way to dig up the report they were to work on. Hermione twitched at his idle rearranging of her important work.

Honestly, why was she even remotely interested in the man?

Disregarding the cut of his jaw and the shade of his eyes, of course.

Waving towards her chair, he asked, "Shall we?"

"Right," she managed, "of course."

The good news was that if the mistletoe possessed some sort of latent love potion or charm, she would have been feeling the effects already, although that would not have worked out well.

But realistically, why would Cormac have decided his office was the best place to hang a Weasley-designed Valentine's Day decoration?

It wasn't a fair assessment, but she had always considered the man a bit simpler than some—although, just because he didn't overthink everything to her level didn't mean he wasn't smart in his own way. She had seen his own brand of creativity and intelligence many times over the years they'd both worked at the Ministry together, so it couldn't be that he was simply that naive.

Cormac began to whistle a cheerful tune as he drew a quill from his bag, skimming the front page of their proposal.

Maybe he honestly believed it was a simple decoration; he had claimed he found it to be nifty.

Hermione decided she could take a page from his book and put the entire matter from her mind. They had work to do, and she wasn't doing either of them any favours by lingering awkwardly by the door. So with that thought in mind, she took the second visitor's chair beside him and they set to work.

By the time they took a break for lunch, they had made significant progress on the report. They had a week until they were to present their proposal to the department heads for implementation, and most of the problems had already been smoothed out.

Interlocking his hands behind his head, Cormac leaned back in his seat, stretching out his muscles. Before she could stop herself, Hermione found her eyes drift to the defined muscle of his biceps and forced a swallow.

Unbidden, a memory from sixth year swept through her mind; his hands skimming her sides, body firm against hers as his lips latched onto her neck.

Huffing a loud exhale, she eyed him, careful to keep her expression blank as her cheeks once more betrayed her.

Glancing her way, he asked, "Hot in here? I'd say so. Should we get some lunch?" With that same grin that had left her weak and lacking in willpower all morning, he added, "My treat."

"Lunch," she echoed, tongue darting out to moisten her lips. If she wasn't mistaken, his eyes dropped at the movement. "Lunch sounds fine—but I can't allow you to pay."

"Inappropriate, I'll bet," he said, but the words were good-natured. "Well, fine. But when this proposal gets accepted I'm taking you for a drink for all your hard work, and no arguments!"

She couldn't find it in her to deny his offer as she drew her wallet from the bottom drawer of her desk and rose to follow him from the office. They walked past his open door en route to the Ministry cafeteria, the curious sprig of mistletoe with its little hearts staring back, mocking her.

Hermione wasn't certain, but Cormac seemed to be walking quite close, and when his arm swung and brushed against hers, she leapt to the side unwittingly. Without missing a beat, he glanced her way but kept walking, and when she selected a few items for her tray, she almost expected he would try to pay for her lunch despite her requests that he not. But he was respectful and didn't attempt to push, and when they sat down at a small table, he chewed his food in silence.

She was relieved to see he possessed proper table manners.

But then, Cormac was a pureblood, and despite that his family wasn't a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, to her knowledge there was still a certain level of propriety and decorum that went along with that.

The entirety of the cafeteria was decorated in garish shades of red and pink, and he gazed around for several minutes before slamming half his glass of water in one. Turning halfway towards her, he announced, "Valentine's Day."

"Right," she managed, unsure of the reference.

He waved a vague hand around them. "Really is quite ridiculous, isn't it?"

"Yes." She'd been halfway tensed for an awkward conversation to ensue, and she was relieved for the turn in the conversation. "Completely ridiculous."

"I mean," he went on, leaning back in his seat; he still hadn't looked directly at her. "If you care about someone, right. You shouldn't need one day to show it."

"I agree."

Voice dropping off, he added, "Just show them every damn day, I'd figure."

For some reason, the words set off a tingle on the surface of her skin, and Hermione nodded. "Especially not with overpriced meals and chocolates and flowers that will be dead in a week."

"Hell no," Cormac said. Finally his blue eyes snapped up to meet hers. "Do you have plans?"

Startled, she blinked back at him, unsure whether he was asking as a matter of interest or for some other reason. "No. I'll likely be at work."

"Yeah," he said, glancing away again. "Same." Flashing her a grin, he added, "We can not celebrate it together, if you like."

A breath caught in her throat. "Cormac, I—"

"I'm joking, of course," he said, his voice dropping, even as a teasing hint of a smile still lingered on his lips. "I know I blew my shot with you all those years ago. I've accepted that. But no reason why we can't still be friends."

Hermione wasn't certain what to say to that, when her stomach had leapt into her throat and her heart began throbbing painfully in her chest. But he didn't seem to be waiting for a response.

One thing she had learned about Cormac McLaggen—and something she had grown to respect and admire about him—was that there was never a hidden agenda. He said what he meant, and it was as uncomplicated as that.

But still, she felt she owed the comment a response, flippant though it might have been. "Cor, it was a long time ago."

His eyes lifted to meet hers.

The blasted Valentine's mistletoe. It had to be the reason her heart was racing at the sight of him. Appetite having vanished in an instant, she barely managed to chug back the last of her water.

"I don't know what might have happened," she added, something in his stare forcing her to push through, "if things had been different that year. I had a lot on my plate, and I don't think I gave you the consideration I ought to have—"

"You don't have to do this," he said quietly, cutting her off. A resigned smile rested on his face. "I didn't mean anything by it. You were the highlight of my last year at Hogwarts—well, of most of my life since, to be honest—but it's nothing more or less than that."

Idly, she wondered why he was making such drastic confessions, even as her heart throbbed as she processed his words, delayed though they reached her brain. It was the Valentine's mistletoe; there was no other explanation for it. But she couldn't stop her own response.

"I can't imagine I've been the highlight—" she managed, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Sadness lingered beneath the brightness of his eyes, and he only stared at her for a long moment. At last, in barely a breath, he said, "Don't undervalue yourself. You're more than anyone's ever let you believe."

The words clenched at her chest, and she was horrified to feel the hot sting of moisture pushing at the backs of her eyes. In a whisper, she responded, "Thanks, Cormac."

"Anyways." His gaze dropped to the table, and he gathered his rubbish onto his tray. "Let's get back, shall we? We've got a report to finish."

The whole walk back, Hermione couldn't force a smile.

By the end of the day, she was so emotionally fatigued that Hermione couldn't even fathom the thought of staying after hours. Beyond that, she and Cormac had spent the rest of the afternoon pushing through the revisions of their proposal, and it was more or less ready to be presented. They would simply have to prepare the actual presentation in advance of their meeting the following week, but Cormac had enough natural charisma to carry both of them if need be, and their report was sound.

They parted, optimistic.

Still, Hermione couldn't shake the thought that something felt wrong. She had worked with Cormac for three years—not usually in such close quarters—but for some reason, she had been thinking about him a lot recently, and especially in the last twenty-four hours.

There was more to him than she had ever realised; maybe she had been unfair to him at Hogwarts.

Lingering in her office after he had already left to his own, she pondered their experiences together in her sixth year.

The way she had treated him as a way to make Ron jealous. Cormac had been legitimately interested in her, and while to an extent, she had enjoyed their time together as well, she had been duplicitous in her actions.

When Cormac wanted to take her to Slughorn's Slug Club Christmas party, she had treated him downright poorly.

Her eyes stung as she recalled his words in the cafeteria earlier that day. That he believed he had blown his shot with her. But his shot had never been valid to begin with.

Eyes watering with tears she fought to keep at bay, she rose from her desk, feeling some unnamed urge push her through the atrium and down the hallway towards his office. In the back of her mind, she thought something else was responsible for this. The mistletoe, or—

The breath chased from her as she collided with a solid mass, and as she lost her balance, a hand caught her wrist; steadying herself, Hermione blinked through a watery sheen to find a pair of bright blue eyes watching her.

"Hermione?" Concern was evident in Cormac's eyes as she blinked back the threatening tears. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she managed, with a stiff nod, "I was only hoping to find you before you left."

Belatedly, she realised his fingers were still coiled around her wrist, his grip assertive but gentle. When her eyes flickered to the contact, he released her, taking a step back from their close proximity.

A slow grin slid across his face. "You found me."

The hall was otherwise deserted, and Hermione suspected everyone else had already gone home for the day. Most often, it was just her left at this time—and increasingly, Cormac as well.

His expression sobered when she didn't smile back. "What was it?"

He never blew anything—it was her fault they had never had a chance together. If she hadn't been so focused on someone else, she might have seen the person in front of her. And now, having grown and matured, he was—

The thoughts raced through her mind as she stared up at him, the pair of them still only a step apart, and her breathing escalated as his gaze flickered down to her mouth.

Merlin, she wanted to kiss him.

Wanted to show him that he hadn't blown his chance at all, and maybe if he was willing to allow her another chance, they could give it a real shot this time.

And they worked together, but they could make something work, and—

The skin between his brows knitted, the concern on his face deepening as she stared mutely, gaping, unable to formulate two words to string together.

In the corner of her periphery, she could see the inane sprig of Valentine's mistletoe hanging on his doorframe, and the image of it was jarring and insincere. Her heart dropped.

At last she choked out a heavy breath, and pressed her lips into a thin effort at a smile, her heart puncturing and deflating in her chest. "I just wanted to say, Cormac, that I enjoyed our lunch together today. Thank you for the invitation."

For a moment, he only stared back at her, his expression faltering, but then he offered a kind smile. "Anytime, Hermione. Like I said—we're friends."

"Friends," she repeated, her voice empty. "Of course. I hope you have a nice night, Cormac."

His hand came up to give her shoulder a squeeze. "And you, Hermione. See you tomorrow."

And with that he brushed past and walked away.