Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters, places, and recognizable situations belong to J. K. Rowling and related publishers. No copyright infringement intended. (Disclaimer applies to all chapters.)
A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed. I really appreciate your encouragement. I hope that you enjoy Part 2.
"So, what was that all about?" Ron asked grumpily as he loaded his plate in the Great Hall.
"Oh, that," Hermione said, recalling her unexpected defense of Malfoy in Hagrid's class and trying her best to sound aloof. "I'm just tired of all the silly barbs we throw back and forth at each other."
"Silly barbs?" Ron asked nearly choking on his pumpkin juice. "Since when is calling you a 'mudblood' a silly barb?"
Hermione shot him a furious look and said, "Shut your mouth, Ronald Weasley. He hasn't called me that in ages. And thanks for making sure I heard that word again." She crossed her arms over her chest and refused to look at him.
"Hermione," he began, "I didn't..."
"Just drop it, Ron," Harry interrupted, knowing that Hermione needed some time to cool off. After several minutes of silence Harry asked, "Hermione, can I pass you anything?"
"No thanks, Harry," she replied, picking up a biscuit from the serving plate directly in front of her. Another biscuit and a glass of pumpkin juice later Hermione said, "I'm going to the library. I'll see you later."
Just as she was about to stand a flurry of beating wings signaled the mail arrival. Owls of all colors and sizes swooped down and dropped red, pink, and white cards and parcels down on the excited students. Even Harry and Ron received several cards apiece. Of course, nothing for me, she thought a bit sadly. What's new.
"Hey, look out, Hermione," Harry said quickly.
She looked up just as a brown school owl clipped her pumpkin juice and dropped something on her empty plate. She just stared at her plate for a moment, wondering if the owl had made a delivery mistake. Very carefully she picked up a perfect cream colored rose from her plate.
"Whozatfrum?" Ron mumbled through a treacle tart.
Hermione looked at the small piece of parchment tied to the rose with a thin satiny ribbon and slowly removed it. Written inside the parchment in small but neat script read, For your thoughtfulness.
"Who's that from?" Ron repeated treacle tart-free.
Hermione scanned both sides of the parchment for any indication of the sender, then shook her head and shrugged in response. For your thoughtfulness. Who would be thanking her for her thoughtfulness? And who had she been thoughtful towards? Well, she had just helped Harry and Ron with a big Potions research project. But she helped them with homework all the time. Why should that project be any different? Because it was Valentine's Day?
Hermione very surreptitiously lifted her eyes from the parchment and glanced at Harry over the top of it. He had opened one of his Valentines and was exasperatedly brushing glittering heart confetti from his treacle tart. Hmm. Well, Harry is sensitive enough to do something like this.
"What in the name of Merlin are these girls thinking?" he blurted out as another Valentine erupted into small red and pink fireworks that narrowly missed singeing his hair. "I swear, if Valentine's Day never happened again I would be a happy man!"
Or, maybe not.
She slid her eyes across the top of the parchment to Ron, who was busy balancing his spoon across the building he had erected from his unopened Valentines, and immediately dismissed him as a suspect.
I did lend Seamus my Transfiguration notes last week, she thought. She looked over to him and saw him blushing madly while Ginny gave him a big bear hug, a box of Honeyduke's chocolate in one of her hands. Okay, probably not him, she determined.
Well, who else could it be? It's not like she had boys lining up at her door, so her options seemed somewhat limited. Dean? No. He was seeing a younger Gryffindor. Neville? Hermione knew from a very reliable source (Ginny) that he was quite taken with a very shy but pretty Hufflepuff girl.
Hermione sighed and slouched over the table, her hand propping up her head. She was officially out of options. Well, someone must have sent it. It didn't just send itself.
She looked up as a squeal emanated from across the Great Hall. Pansy had a look of pure adoration on her face as she gripped Blaise Zabini in what must have been a huge hug, although to Hermione it looked more like a head lock. Her eyes swept quickly across the Slytherin table and she noticed a distinct gap between Crabbe and Goyle.
I wonder...
She stopped her thought as suddenly as it had appeared. Malfoy's absence had nothing to do with her mystery rose. And, besides, why in the world would Malfoy give her anything but grief, let alone a perfect Valentine rose. And he didn't get my sonnet. I was just imagining things, she tried to convince herself.
She looked back down at the beautiful flower in her hand and smiled wistfully. It didn't really matter who it was from. Just the fact that she got something beautiful for Valentine's Day was enough for her.
Cream, she thought. For your thoughtfulness. She knew that different colors of roses had different meanings. I wonder what cream signifies, besides thoughtfulness? Suddenly she stood up and walked swiftly towards the doors of the Great Hall. She was so caught up in trying to remember the name of the book she had seen about magical and non-magical flowers that she didn't even notice Harry's and Ron's puzzled expressions as she left.
She quickly raced through the corridors until she came to the library. Now, where is that book?, she thought as she traced her fingers along the spines of numerous tomes on Herbology. Ah, here it is! That Which We Call a Rose: 1000 magical meanings and more. As she pulled the book from the shelf she was startled to find a soft pink rose sticking out of the top of it. The note attached to the rose was written in the same neat script as the first and said, My gratitude. She slowly opened the book to the page marked by the rose and found the exact information she was looking for. Someone was thinking ahead.
Rose colors and their meanings. Cream is a soft color which, in turn, connotes soft traits. This color is often associated with one who is thoughtful, charming, and gracious. The recipient of this color rose is one who is gentle at heart and is quietly observant. Magically, cream rose petals are frequently used in calming potions.
Pink roses often signify gratitude. In addition, pink means happiness, appreciation, and admiration. One who receives a pink rose has done a great kindness and is valued for his or her works. Dried petals from the pink rose are used in certain cheering potions.
Hermione smiled unconsciously as she reviewed the book's revelations. So, someone thought she was gentle, observant, and did kindnesses for others. She silently reveled in the tingly feeling she got over the idea that someone was looking beyond her book smarts and into her heart. She had always wanted to be acknowledged as something other than a brain, someone who was only good for her meticulous notes and her homework correcting abilities. And it finally seemed like someone was seeing past the stereotyped mold she had fallen into.
She had no idea who this "mystery Valentine" was, but he was rapidly gaining points in her book. And, although intelligence was Hermione's highest admiration in an individual, she couldn't help but secretly hope he was also handsomely attractive.
Racing down the nearly empty corridor in a mad dash, Hermione just barely entered the Transfiguration classroom and made it to her seat before Professor McGonagall began speaking.
"Now I realize that many of you are giddy over Valentine's Day, but please do not allow it to distract you from your work. Today we will be transfiguring plants into...Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Everyone turned around at Professor McGonagall's exclamation to see five little cupids bearing Valentine gifts flying into the room. They looked around at the students with their round, cherubic little faces and began dropping their gifts onto the unsuspecting recipients.
Several of the girls uttered soft ohs at their gifts while Dean yelped when his landed on his head. Ron's box of chocolate frogs warranted a "wicked!" from him, but Harry just rolled his eyes when he noticed his was a singing Valentine. Just as the cupids were flying off and the students were beginning to settle down, the last cupid dropped something down onto Hermione's desk. She smiled in unfeigned relief as she stared down at two brilliantly colored orange roses with notes attached to each. She quickly opened the first note, which read, My admiration. The second said, Transfigure this.
She stared at the second rose contemplatively until McGonagall cleared her throat and said, "Well, now that that is out of the way let's get on to our lesson, shall we? Transfiguring plants. Everyone collect a plant from my desk and then I will give you a demonstration."
Someone knew that she would be transfiguring plants today and had given her an extra rose for it. But who? As she walked back to her desk carrying a pixie violet she berated herself for not having checked out That Which We Call a Rose from the library. Now she would have to race back to the library before Arithmancy to find out more about what orange meant.
After successfully transfiguring both her pixie violet and her extra orange rose into a pocket watch and a rose charm on a chain, respectively, Professor McGonagall dismissed the class. Hermione quickly gathered her things and sprinted out of class before Ron or Harry could even notice she had gone.
Panting loud enough that Madame Pince turned to give her a stern look, Hermione hurried down the aisles of books until she arrived at the row which housed her desired reference. She quickly found the book and pulled it from its place on the shelf. As she did, another beautiful rose peeked out from within the pages. Hermione paused briefly and smiled at the appearance of yet another rose. She softly brushed her fingers along the velvety white petals and opened the attached parchment. For my lost and your intact innocence. She sighed at the words. She had made an allusion to lost innocence in her sonnet. Perhaps the roses were from whomever had received the sonnet. But how could he have possibly known that she was the author?
As she contemplated the possibilities she opened the book to the rose marked page. A small piece of parchment fluttered from the book onto the floor. Hermione picked up the parchment to see what was written on it. The now very familiar neat script read, Forget something? Her smile returned as her eyes searched the page for the information she had come for.
The color orange represents admiration, fascination, enthusiasm, and desire. Often the giver of orange roses wants to convey his or her admiration for or fascination with the recipient. Recent findings conclude that orange roses received as a gift, when transfigured, infuse the transfigured object with the ability to reveal the giver. When the giver of the rose touches the transfigured object it will momentarily glow orange.
White is the color of innocence and purity. In addition, it also refers to secrecy and reverence. The recipient of the white rose is either innocent or loved in innocence and reverence. Anciently, it was believed that a white rose charmed with a strengthening charm would give the holder protection from evil.
Hermione was absolutely fascinated. Receiving so many wonderful roses was astonishing, but learning about what they meant was captivating. Whomever had sent the roses definitely knew the way to Hermione's heart--through her head.
She walked dreamily up to Madame Pince's desk with her book, her bag, and her four enchanting roses. As she reached the front desk she realized that she needed to hurry to get to Arithmancy, so she quickly checked out her book and began her trek to class.
Fortunately, the Arithmancy room was close to the library, so she arrived in time. Just as she stepped under the door frame she stopped. She blinked her eyes just to double check, but on her desk was a solitary red rose. Five roses? This was incredible! Before long she would have an entire bouquet.
As she stared at her red rose from a distance a familiar drawl from behind her cut through her rumination. "In or out, Granger?"
Still in a minor stupor she turned to Malfoy with a pleased look on her face and said, "Oh. In. Definitely in." She then made her way towards her desk and her rose. Quite expertly now she removed the parchment from the stem. My respect. Quickly she opened her library book.
Red is love, passion, and courage. Less commonly known, though, it is also respect. Lovers most often give red roses, but red is also given to show respect to those most worthy. Red rose petals are easily the most common ingredient in love potions.
Automatically her hand began taking notes as the Professor began her lecture, but Hermione's mind was stuck in the magical land of wonder where she imagined in whom she could conjure so much respect.
Ah, what a lovely holiday, Hermione thought as she drifted happily through the corridors. A smile played unconsciously across her lips as she clutched her roses closely to her chest, the fragrant aroma wafting through her senses. She rounded a corner caught up in a blissful dreamland and crashed headlong into a solid mass moving directly towards her. As she stumbled from the collision a pair of hands gripped her shoulders, keeping her upright.
"Watch where you're--oh, it's you."
Hermione looked up and into the gray eyes of Draco Malfoy. "Yes," she responded somewhat startled. "And it's you."
"Yes, it is," he replied, a secretive smirk gracing his striking features. His eyes flickered down to the flowers still clutched in her hand and asked, "So, raiding the greenhouses?"
"For your information," she began, "they were gifts."
"Five roses. They're quite lovely," he observed.
"Yes, they are." Her eyes turned down slightly to look again at her roses and she noticed his hands were still resting on her shoulders. Pulling quickly but gently away from him she nervously fingered her rose charm necklace and said, "It's good to see that you know your flowers."
"Of course. I've always been good at Herbology." He looked down at her necklace and asked, "Another gift?"
She shot him a suspicious look and answered, "Yes, as a matter of fact."
"And who would be sending you such fine gifts on this Valentine's Day?"
"Someone kind and observant and classy," she said defensively. "Although I wouldn't expect you to understand those qualities."
"Au contraire," Draco said smoothly. "I understand those qualities quite well, and I must admit that I agree with you. Your benefactor must be all those things. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some business I must attend to." He quickly walked around Hermione and disappeared behind the corner.
Hermione gaped openly at the space Draco had just occupied. Two strangely normal conversations with Draco Malfoy in the same day was highly abnormal. She narrowed her eyes and wondered what the scheming Slytherin was up to. She stood up straight and shook the suspicion from her mind. Whatever he was up to didn't matter. She was having a magnificent day and nothing, not even Malfoy, could change that.
She slowly began walking towards the Great Hall, allowing her excitement over her secret Valentine to fill her mind. Softly she fingered a velvet petal and fell back into her happy musings, blocking out all but her flowers, her charm necklace, and her complete bliss.
As she walked she wondered if she would ever meet her secret Valentine. Would he be tall and dashing? Or perhaps bookish and shy? Maybe he would be confident yet not overbearing. Of course he would be those things. And maybe, just maybe, he would be breathtakingly handsome, as well.
"Hermione. Hermione."
She was vaguely aware of voices coming from somewhere nearby as she floated dreamily through the Great Hall and sank weightlessly into the empty seat next to Seamus.
"Hermione?" The same voice as before, but this time closer and more distinct, cut through her dazed musings and she turned to face Lavender, who had just sat down across the table from her next to Harry.
"Hmm?" Hermione wondered, trying her best to wipe off the silly dreamy look that had somehow been stuck onto her face since she had received her most recent rose.
"So," Lavender began without further preamble, "who is it?"
"Who is what?" Hermione asked.
Lavender heaved a pointedly exasperated sigh and continued, "Who is your secret Valentine?"
Hermione shrugged and smiled while absentmindedly stroking a rose against her cheek.
"Oh, come off it, Hermione. You are in love with him, aren't you?" Lavender pressed.
"What?" Hermione bolted from her reverie and back into reality. "No, I mean, I don't think...well...can you be in love with someone you haven't even met?" she asked confusedly.
"Of course you can," Lavender assured her. "Well, just look at you." Hermione stared at Lavender like a deer caught in the headlights. "You mean you really don't know who this mystery man is?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Be serious, Lavender," Ron chided. "Honestly, Hermione in love? And with someone she doesn't know? What if it's some second or third year with a silly crush? Like Hermione would be in love with a twelve year old. What if it's Malfoy?"
"Oh, be quiet, Ron," Lavender snapped. "As if you would know the first thing about it. If you haven't noticed, you're not exactly a Casanova."
"Oh sure, but you're the expert, Miss I'm-Boy-Crazy," Ron countered.
Hermione, although annoyed by Ron's and Lavender's bickering, was glad to have the attention taken off of her. The other surrounding Gryffindors were curiously following their classmates' bickering while Hermione took the opportunity to think.
She wasn't in love with this mystery Valentine, was she? Ron did have a point. What if it was a second year? She definitely couldn't be in love with a mere child, even if he was mature and romantic beyond his years. Just then another near impossibility hit her. What if it was Malfoy? Granted, she had momentarily considered the remote possibility, but could she really allow herself to be in love with him? If it was him at all. She looked up at the Slytherin table and immediately caught a pair of gray eyes staring at her. In a moment so quick it could have just been her imagination, Malfoy lifted his glass in an almost imperceptible toast before downing its contents. Hermione jumped back in her seat and looked around to see if anyone else had seen, but her housemates were either concentrated on their plates or still caught up in Ron's and Lavender's insult volleying.
Malfoy. No, no, no, she thought. As much as she wanted to romanticize the idea of falling in love with someone by his intellect alone, she couldn't imagine falling in love with Malfoy. Would he laugh at her and humiliate her for falling into his trap? Would he use it as blackmail against her? Would he be glad that his feelings were returned? Right, she snorted under her breath. Mr. I-live-to-torment-all-Gryffindors-especially-Harry-Ron-and-Hermione actually wanting her to love him? She immediately returned her attention to the table and stared at her empty plate, not feeling even remotely hungry and trying desperately to ignore the image in her mind of Malfoy holding a bouquet of multi-colored roses. After a few minutes of mindless staring and the background buzz of much less heated "discussing", Hermione jumped in shock as a pristine yellow rose materialized on her unused plate. Any and all residual conversing in her general vicinity ceased as everyone's attention suddenly fell on her sixth rose. She slowly reached towards the rose and removed the attached parchment. Opening the parchment just enough for no one else to read it but her she found the words, My friendship. If you want it. Leave the Great Hall now and follow the path. I'll be waiting.
I'll be waiting. Hermione's heart began to pound as she considered those words. Her mystery man was going to reveal himself to her and offer her his friendship. What do I do? What do I do? What if it did end up being a twelve year old? Or Malfoy? What would she do? She tried to slow her increased breathing and look calmly and rationally at things. Whomever it was was putting himself on the line by actually revealing himself. He was risking the possibility of rejection or ridicule, even though Hermione would never even consider putting him through the latter. Finally she decided. I owe him my consideration, regardless of who he is. He has made me feel incredibly wonderful and special, and he deserves to know how much I appreciate his phenomenal efforts. Her decision made, she stood and headed towards the doors of the Great Hall amidst numerous unanswered questions from her housemates.
When she walked through the doors of the Great Hall she paused, a smile spreading contentedly over her features. Floating effortlessly in midair, within arm's length, was a cream rose. Hermione gingerly plucked the offering from its bed of air and added it to her ever growing bouquet.
Follow the path. The words from her last note echoed in her mind as she searched the corridors for the path. Finally she spotted it. A pink rose hovered delicately at the end of the corridor. As she approached it and added it to her bower she caught sight of the next one up the staircase--an orange rose. Then, down another corridor, a white one. Then a red one. And, finally, a yellow rose. As she tenderly placed the yellow rose with its brothers she looked around the dimly lit hallway. Portraits lined the walls interspersed by torch brackets. The light from the torches splashed against the stone walls in dim flickers of illumination. The portraits, all smiling approvingly at her, pointed and nodded to her right at a door hinged slightly ajar. Smooth golden light poured from the slightly opened door and cast a wedge of brightness against the dark floor. Slowly Hermione took a breath and readied herself to meet her mystery Valentine. She placed her hand against the door in a juxtaposition of hesitation and determination and gently pushed.
The door swung easily open as she froze in bewilderment and wonder. The sight was glorious. No less than a hundred lit candles floated randomly throughout the room casting an appealing and inviting warmth across all their light touched. The room was small, no larger than a dormitory, yet housed many great fascinations. Along the wall in front of her stretched a fireplace, warm flames quietly crackling in the grate. Facing the fire sat a cushy sofa bedecked in a lush burgundy material. Against the right wall stood a vast, deep red stained oak bookcase stacked with volumes of thick books. Across the left wall a large writing desk sat under a portrait of a man painting on a canvas. After the portrait artist completed a painting he would remove it from his easel and replace it with a blank canvas. As Hermione watched in wonder he completed his work on a grassy landscape scene and began his work on his perception of the room they were in. She looked at the almost room sized burgundy and gold flecked rug spanning the floor and dropped her jaw in awe as she noticed hundreds of rose petals strewn across it.
"Wow," Hermione whispered in near reverence as she walked gently across the rose petal adorned floor toward the bookcase. She lightly fluttered her fingers against the spines of a few of the books. Hogwarts: A History, Moste Potente Potions, and That Which We Call a Rose were among the titles held within the oversized bookcase. Hermione shook her head. Academe was written all over this room. Someone definitely had her pegged. As she continued to drink in her surroundings a soft yet deep voice permeated the air.
"Like what you see?"
She startled slightly as she scanned the room for the person belonging to that gentle voice. She looked towards the high backed sofa and watched with unmasked anticipation as a figure silhouetted against the fire rose into sight. Her breathing quickened and her heart thumped loudly in her chest as the figure, clad in dark robes, walked from around the sofa to face her. The candles' illumination, though plentiful, was no match for the fire's glow which backlit the still unidentified figure. Hermione tentatively moved forward until she was close enough to see the candlelight glimmer softly against her companion's light blonde hair. She drew in a sharp breath and her hand instinctively flew up to the charm hanging just below her neck as she recognized the owner of the voice and hair.
"Malfoy," she said in breathless incredulity.
"Granger," he replied smoothly as he moved undauntedly towards her.
She stood rooted to the floor as he slowly advanced on her. "It's...it's you."
"Yes, it is," he smirked slightly. He continued moving slowly towards her until he
was arm's length from her. "So," he asked silkily, "do you like what you see?"
She looked ascertainingly into his smoky gray eyes for a moment trying to catch his meaning. Did she like what she saw in the room? Or did she like what she saw in him? Not quite sure which question she should answer, she looked down and saw an empty vase in his hands. Hoping to avoid the question entirely she answered with, "What's that for?"
His smirk increased at her obvious changing of topics and replied, "It's for your roses. I thought you would be tired of carrying them around."
"Oh, yes, thank you." She took her flowers one by one and carefully arranged them in the square crystal vase that Draco still held. "You charmed them to stay alive without water, didn't you?" she asked as she placed the twelfth rose in the vase.
"Brilliant, don't you think?"
Hermione looked up and saw him staring into her eyes. After a moment which she thought may have been a bit longer than proper, she shifted her focus to the now roaring fire.
"Have a seat," Draco said, stepping aside so she could walk between him and the sofa.
She cautiously, but surprisingly willingly, brushed past him and rounded the edge of the sofa. In front of the sofa sat a long shiny coffee table laden with various fruit confections. Chocolate covered strawberries, caramel dripped apple slices, and meringue cups filled with cream, blueberries, and strawberry and kiwi slices sat on silver serving trays atop the table. Hermione sat down in front of the tempting delicacies and turned to look at Draco, who placed the vase on the table and sat on the sofa next to her.
"You did all of this?" Hermione wondered questioningly. "Why?"
After a brief pause Draco answered, "Because of this." He reached inside his robe and pulled out a rolled pink parchment tied with a gauzy white ribbon. He extended the parchment to Hermione and said, "I believe this is yours."
She reached out with a slightly shaking hand and took the familiar parchment. Slowly she slid the parchment from its ribbon and unrolled it. This was it--her missing sonnet. Her eyes rolled gently over the words as she read through her first and only poetic venture.
A beauty deep, a hatred born of years,
An angel fallen from the height of stars
Looks heavenward and pleads relief of fears
And healing, bought by duty's unseen scars.
Compassion's face, which inborn hate hath marred,
Obscured from view by pride's most careless thought,
O'er reaches bounds where prejudice hath barred
The heart from touching life with kindness fraught.
Fate's cruel embrace enfolds thee in her vice
And suffocates the innocence from life.
But choose the better part and hope entice
To rescue souls and thine to light invite.
O Providence, look o'er mine angel lost,
And lead him safe where none but love accost.
She lifted her eyes from the parchment and gently rolled it up.
"So, you did write it." Draco looked seriously at her.
"Yes," she said quietly.
"And you wrote it for me," he stated.
A moment of brief silence passed before Hermione admitted, "Yes. Well, I wrote it about you."
"Why?" Draco asked searchingly.
Hermione took a long deep breath and exhaled slowly. She looked at his surprisingly sincere face and decided to tell him. "I saw what your father did and said to you in the Potions corridor just before the holidays."
"Oh." Draco turned his eyes and his attention to the fire as he leaned back against the sofa cushions. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
"You're sorry?" Hermione asked gently but indignantly. "He should be sorry for what he did. And I'm sorry you had to go through it," she added softly, her eyes fixing on her folded hands.
"You are?"
Hermione looked up and saw Draco's eyes searching hers. "Of course I am. No one should be subjected to such treatment, even you, Draco Malfoy."
Draco's face softened and a near smile approached his face. "How could that one incident give you such an insight into my life?"
"What?" she asked somewhat confused.
He indicated the parchment in her lap and questioned, "Do you know just how accurate your writing is?"
Hermione shook her head.
"It's spot on," he continued. "I read this and was completely amazed that someone had finally figured me out. How did you do it?"
Hermione smiled at the almost eager look on his face. "I don't know," she admitted. "I suppose I just have a firm belief in the goodness of mankind. People aren't born bad or evil. They become such through teachings and choices. After I saw what you had undoubtedly gone through innumerable times before I realized that you weren't really being given a choice on how you should be. Your choice was being made for you. But I think that if you had a choice we would all see that good would overcome."
Draco once again sat back into the sofa, a look of quiet reflection in his eyes.
After a few moments of both of them staring into the fire Hermione again broached the subject that had been on her mind since she stepped into this beautifully adorned alternate universe. "So, tell me. Why did you do all of this--the roses, the secret meeting, this absolutely amazing location--for me? I mean, it's obvious you knew it was me from the beginning. I thought you hated me."
He turned from the fire and looked contemplatively at her before responding. "Well, first off, the hate issue is a two-way street. But, when I get down to the heart of it, no one has ever gotten me before. I've either been just a bully or an evil git in most people's opinions. No one has ever seen beyond into why I am the way I am. I know it's mostly my fault because I've never let anyone in before. But all of a sudden someone looked beyond the facade and saw the real me. And even though that someone happens to be considered one of my worst enemies, I can't deny that I'm glad someone finally gets me. Someone understands. And, worst enemy or not, I can't just throw that away."
"So what does this mean, Malfoy? For us?" Hermione looked at him and waited for his answer, not wanting to assume anything.
"What do you want it to mean?" he returned.
"Well, a dozen roses and a romantic meeting don't mean I all of a sudden trust you. People don't just change overnight. I won't play Cupid's fool for you," she said honestly.
"Good," he responded. "I already have too many fools for friends."
Hermione cocked her head to the side in thought and said, "What are you trying to say, Malfoy?"
"You're a smart girl, Granger," he replied. "You can work it out."
"Friends?" she asked. "Are you proposing that after six years of pure, unadulterated malice and contempt for each other that we finally throw down the gauntlet and become friends?"
"Is that what you want?" he pressed.
"Is that what you want?" she countered.
Draco sighed, closed his eyes, and placed his thumb and index finger over either side of the bridge of his nose. "Granger," he complained mildly, "is nothing ever easy with you?" He then looked at her and continued, "I don't know how successful a friendship with you will be, considering the fact that we annoy the heck out of each other, but I do know that you are extremely intelligent and that you understand me. Yes, somewhere in the world pigs have learned aerodynamics without magical aid, but the fact remains—someone gets me, and I don't want to lose that connection."
Hermione smiled at him and shook her head. "Malfoy, you're a surprise a minute."
"So," he began, aiming his first genuine smile directly at Hermione, "I'll ask you again. Do you like what you see?"
Hermione, still smiling, nodded. "At the moment, absolutely."
Draco then lifted up a platter and offered, "A divinely superb Valentine confection?"
"Of course," she answered.
The next half hour was spent in confection heaven and light conversation about "How did you get my sonnet?" and "Did Potter really singe his hair on that Valentine?" After the platters became considerably lighter, Hermione and Draco looked at each other with a dawning comprehension.
"Did we just spend a pleasant evening with each other, and did it actually feel rather normal?" Hermione queried with mixed confusion and suspicion.
"I believe so," Draco said in stunned agreement.
Hermione then smiled and laughed. "This is so completely unexpected. You and me, of all people, actually enjoying one another's company. What would everyone say?"
"Hang everyone else. What they don't know won't hurt them."
"Are you suggesting, Draco Malfoy," Hermione started with a teasing air, "a secret alliance?"
Draco graced her with a raised eyebrow and a half smirk, half smile while responding, "Well, the forbidden and secretive is always a little more intriguing, don't you think?"
Hermione returned his look and agreed. "I suppose so. But does this mean you're still going to be an insufferable git to everyone else?"
He just shrugged. "As you said, people don't just change overnight." Then he smiled genuinely. "Unless they have good reason to, that is."
"Is that a promise?" she asked craftily.
"Are you planning on giving me a good reason to?" he pried.
"Maybe," she answered nonchalantly.
"Hmm, this should be interesting. In that case, then, yes, that is a promise."
Hermione held his gaze and said mildly suggestively, "I'll hold you to that, Malfoy."
Then it was Draco's turn to laugh. "You really are a lot more fun than I expected." After a moment of relishing in their surprise truce, he added, "Well, I believe I recall something about Valentine desserts in the Great Hall."
"That's right," Hermione said in sudden recollection. "Professor Dumbledore's treat to the school. I suppose we should go. Not that I could eat another thing, mind you."
As they left the room, Hermione carrying her vase of roses and Draco pocketing the pink parchment Hermione had given back to him, they both silently contemplated their new arrangement. They retraced the floating flower path back towards the Great Hall and the after-dinner dessert buffet.
Once the doors of the Great Hall were in sight Draco said quietly, "By the way, it was thirteen."
Hermione stopped abruptly and said in bewilderment, "What?"
Draco stopped in front of her and turned to face her. "You said a dozen roses earlier. But I actually gave you thirteen."
"That's right," Hermione remembered, her hand once again lightly tracing the rose charm necklace hanging around her neck. "You gave me an extra orange rose to transfigure."
"Mm-hmm." Draco stepped closer to her and gently lifted the rose charm away from her neck. "Nice work." The charm began to glow a brilliant orange as he held it against his fingers. Then he gently let the charm fall back against her as the glow faded.
"Malfoy?" Hermione spoke quickly as he began to turn towards the doors. "I never thanked you for the flowers and everything else. This day has been absolutely magnificent, and you have made me feel truly wonderful. I don't know how this will all work out, but I am willing to give it a try. Thank you for taking a chance on me." She then leaned forward on tiptoe and gave Draco a kiss on his cheek.
"What was that for?" he asked softly as she headed towards the doors of the Great Hall.
"You're a smart boy," she threw teasingly at him. "You can work it out."
Almost no one noticed as the unlikely pair entered the Great Hall, shared another smile, and made their way towards their respective house tables.
Up at the head table Professor Dumbledore turned his head towards Professor McGonagall, a twinkle in his eyes. "Ah, lovely Valentine's Day, isn't it, Minerva?" he smiled as he lifted a spoon full of pudding in a toast.
(The End)