Happy Un-Valentine's Day.

Hermione Granger stood on her toes to reach the wall above the doorway of The Leaky Cauldron. Her fingertips just barely reached the spot on the stony wall, as she held up her homemade banner.

"Harry!" she called, her cheeks pink. "A little help?"

Her best friend, Harry Potter, sighed and crossed the room towards Hermione. After a quick jerk of his wand, the banner adhered to the wall just as Hermione lost her balance, stumbled backwards, and caught herself.

"Perfect," the brunette breathed, her tiny hands clasped together in front of her. "Isn't it just perfect?"

Ginny Weasley rose from a bar stool to Hermione's right and stood beside her. Harry stepped to her other side. The banner in front of them was a dark, dark cranberry red, the words a charcoal black. It read:

HAPPY UN-VALENTINE'S DAY!

Surrounding the words were ghostly gray hearts, though they were all cracked or split in half. The rest of the Three Broomsticks corresponded with the main banner: black and gray streamers hung from the ceiling, twisted expertly by Hermione's delicate hands. Three round tables were positioned in a triangle, draped with the same dark cranberry red in the form of table cloths. Scattered across the tables were black rose petals. Eight chairs surrounded each table.

"Impressive," Harry chuckled, his hands tucked casually in his pockets.

"Do you think it's too much?" Hermione asked, biting her lip.

"It's brilliant, Hermione. A tad melodramatic, but brilliant," Ginny teased, placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder. Harry glanced at his wristwatch and jerked his head toward the door. Ginny's shoulders rose quickly.

"Right! We've got reservations for 7:30, can't be late! You know how hard it is to keep a table on Valentine's day," Ginny blurted, gathering her black clutch and coat. Harry shot her a look. Hermione's cheeks burned. Ginny reached out toward her.

"Christ, Mione, I'm sorry. I really didn't–"

Hermione chuckled, but Ginny and Harry could see that the smile did not reach her eyes. "Ginny, it's fine. I'm fine. It's been a month, I'd be mad if I was still hung up on... him." Her eyes shifted downward. There was a silence. "And besides," she continued, suddenly cheery, almost too cheery. "This is an Un-Valentine's Day party. To forget about men and all the turmoil they bring. No offense, Harry," she added with a wink. Harry scoffed.

"None taken, I guess," he replied with mock scorn.

"Now you really should get going, you two, or they'll give away your table! Go, shoo!" Hermione called, ushering them out the door. Ginny was struggling to stay inside long enough to give Hermione a few encouraging words.

"Your party is going to be spectacular, I swear! Make sure you set a limit on drinks, or this place will be full of bitter drunks! Have fun!" Ginny was yelling her last words as Hermione finally closed the door. Hermione laughed again and leaned her back against the door. She took a deep breath and smoothed her dress. It was simple, black, and elegant, but modern. The thick classic straps dipped into a sweetheart neckline that amplified her assets well. The fabric fit tightly to the rest of her body, hemmed a few inches above the knee. Similarly, she wore simple black heels and very sparse black jewelry: a black pearl bracelet and matching earrings. Black is classy, she thought. Classy is the key.

With the party beginning promptly at eight o'clock, Hermione noticed that she had roughly thirty minutes to put the finishing touches on the party. The music, the food, the bartender, the drinks. Sooner than she anticipated, it was time for guests to arrive. Hermione sat in a chair closest to the door and waited, legs crossed, hands clasped on her lap, for the first guest to come in. Every few seconds, she would glance casually at her watch, pout for a moment, and then smile again. Everyone is just running late, that's all.

Draco Malfoy sat stiffly on his black leather couch. He downed a shot of Firewhiskey and ran his fingers through his shaggy blonde hair.

"Gee, mate, you've got it bad." Blaise Zabini chuckled, sitting in an arm chair across the room. Pansy Parkinson smacked his arm and gave him a death glare. Blaise scoffed.

"Hey!" he griped, holding his arm. Pansy crossed the room to Draco and sat beside him.

"Well, you can't expect him to just forget about her!"she scolded Blaise, giving Draco a pat on the back. "You sure you'll be okay by yourself? We can cancel our reservations if you need a friend right now."

"Pansy!" Blaise said hotly, standing. Pansy gave him a warning look, and he sat again.

"I'll be fine. I can handle myself. You two go have dinner." Draco said. They all stayed still and silent. "Well, go!" he encouraged. Pansy and Blaise reluctantly left the room, and left Draco to down his shots.

Draco glanced at the clock on the wall, his fingers now gripping the bottle of Firewhiskey. It was a little after eight o'clock.

"Merlin," he hissed, leaning back in his chair. "It's gonna be a long night."

Soon, 8:05 turned to 8:10. And 8:10 turned to 8:30. And 8:30 turned to 9:00. And when her watch showed it was 10:00 and still, no one had showed up, Hermione was frozen. Her hair was frazzled, as if the stress had transferred into her locks through electric waves. She was tapping her fingers, flustered, without a real pattern. She was too distraught to notice. But even though there was only the bartender to see her, she wouldn't let it show.

Hermione quickly went through the guest list in her head. No one had RSVP'd, but she had concluded at the time that it was only because her friends were all busy, or perhaps disorganized, and simply couldn't find the time to RSVP, but would make her party a priority.

She had invited many of her Hogwarts classmates, for she hadn't seen many since they went their separate ways at the end of seventh year 2 years ago. She had invited Luna and Neville, and assumed they'd come together, since they had been dating for... Oh no. Hermione thought suddenly. She brought her hands up to her face. No one showed up because everyone has someone to enjoy Valentine's Day with!

She banged her forehead on the table. The bartender jumped in surprise. This was gonna be a long night.

Draco rose from his chair to fetch another bottle. Anything to get her off his mind. As he went to step through the doorway, his foot struck something.

"Bloody house elves, leaving things everywhere.." he grumbled, bending down to move the obstacle. When his eyes focused, however, Draco paused.

It was a white shoe box with the word 'Us' scribbled on the cover in her handwriting. He choked slightly.

He knew he should have put it back. Or maybe even hidden it, somewhere that he'd never have to look at it again. But his willpower wouldn't allow him to do that.

Draco slumped into his chair again, without a bottle of Firewhiskey, and placed the box on the coffee table in front of him. With one last deep breath, he reached forward and popped the top off of the box like it was on fire. And then he couldn't move.

He didn't even want to look. That box was full of so many memories, too many. Some of the objects inside were just things of hers that she'd left at the manor while she was over. Some were things that she'd given to him. Jesus, Draco, he thought angrily. Just look at the damn box.

He finally peered at the box and sighed. On top was a photo. It showed Draco trying to kiss her on the cheek, and her playfully swatting him away until she finally gave in and grinned as he kissed her. Draco remembered the day perfectly.

"Well," Draco grunted to himself. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss you."

"I just don't know what I was thinking!" Hermione moaned, her fingers knotted in her hair. "How did I honestly think anyone would be as bitter as me? Everyone else is probably having a merry old time, eating fancy dinners in their fancy clothes with their fancy dates because they actually have someone who fancies them!"

The bartender, evidently uncomfortable, loosened his tie a little. Hermione lifted her head from the table and wiped her eyes. She took a deep breath.

"Who am I kidding? No one's coming. I might as well just pack up and get out of here," she sighed, standing quickly. And then, after all of the work that she had put into planning and decorating for this party, Hermione began to rip down the banner.

When he had successfully ransacked the entire box and relived the memory behind each object, Draco was shaking. He regretted looking through the box. He regretted putting all of those things in that stupid box in the first place.

He regretted ever letting her go.

Draco suddenly stood. He knew it was crazy, he knew it was a long shot. But he needed to try. With a sudden surge of will power, he clutched his coat and apparated straight to her.

Hermione huffed as she finished folding the last tablecloth and dropped it into the cardboard box she had used to transport all of the decorations. The bartender had already closed up the bar, and was shrugging his black coat onto his shoulders. He made for the door and Hermione looked up, confused.

"Wait," she said. "Where are you going?" The bartender twisted the doorknob. He was clearly in a rush.

"My girlfriend's waiting for me at our apartment. I promised her I'd make her dinner for Valentine's day. I'm gonna lock up this door, you can just go out the back. Don't forget to turn off the lights. Later!" And with that, he hurried out the door. Hermione heard a lock, and then silence. Even the bartender at an Un-Valentine's Day party had a Valentine. I just hate my life, Hermione thought dejectedly. It was almost amusing how terrible this day was going.

With a short, joyless chuckle, Hermione clutched the box and went to exit the back door. With one last glance around the empty room, she flicked the light switch and left the pub in darkness.

Draco arrived in front of the Three Broomsticks and immediately felt sick. I can't go in there, he thought. I'm crazy, aren't I?

Mustering up all of his courage, Draco took three giant steps to the door. But what he saw confused him. There were no lights inside, not one, and the door was locked shut. But I know the party was here, he thought. Where is everyone?

Draco hadn't received an invitation personally, but Blaise and Pansy both had and he had studied it carefully when he would visit. He remembered the white textured paper, the cranberry script that read:

Un-Valentine's Day Party

The Three Broomsticks

February 14th

To begin promptly at 8pm

Please RSVP to Miss Hermione Granger

But the pub was empty, and there was evidently no party going on. Draco kicked the door in frustration and hissed in pain.

"It just wasn't meant to be," he growled, though he was pretty sure that was just a lie.

Hermione dropped the box of decoration haphazardly onto the rug beside her and slumped into her white couch. The night had not turned out exactly how she had planned, and she was glad to be home. Just as she did every other night, Hermione turned on the kettle for tea, and slipped into her pajamas. But as she nestled into the couch, she realized she had left the gate in front of her apartment wide open.

"Shit," she mumbled, rising from the couch.

He didn't know how he got there, but he just couldn't resist taking the few steps up to her door when he noticed that her front gate was wide open. He knew for a fact that she never left her gate open. She was afraid that raccoons would get into her garbage! Draco chuckled to himself just thinking about it.

She hated that she was so paranoid about unwanted night visitors – burglars, murderers, hell, she would even hate if a raccoon got in her front gate and found her trash barrels particularly tempting. She had to close that gate, even if she didn't want to.

He didn't know what he would say. Maybe he'd just let her know her gate was open, wish her a happy Valentine's Day, and leave before she could say anything. He just needed to see her face. So Draco lifted his pale hand to knock.

She casually twisted the doorknob and opened the door quickly. She peered around, just to check for burglars or maybe a very courageous raccoon, and saw nothing. With a relieved sigh, Hermione tiptoed to the gate, locked it shut, and returned back into her apartment.

He had chickened out. He had been so close to knocking on the door but he chickened out. And now he was hiding like an idiot behind a bush in front of her house. He watched her open the door, look around for creeps like himself, lock the gate, and disappear back inside. You're such a stupid git! Go back and get the girl!

And that little mental pep talk was just what he needed. Because less than a minute after the love of his life had locked him out, Draco had hopped the fence and was knocking on her door like his life depended on it.

She was already settling into the couch once more when a sharp rap on the door made Hermione jump. And the knocking didn't end until she got up off the couch once more and swung the door open, irritated.

"What in the world–" she began. But her voice caught in her throat. She couldn't believe her eyes.

He couldn't believe his eyes. She was more beautiful than he remembered, if it were possible. But then there was something he hadn't anticipated: the words began to pour out of Draco's mouth, almost against his will.

"I know I'm not the person that you want to be seeing. But I couldn't help myself. I haven't stopped thinking about you since the moment you walked out of my life. I know I sound like a lunatic, and I can't believe I'm actually standing on your doorstep at this hours, but I can't–"

Then, Hermione interrupted him. But not in the way he expected. At all.

For the first time in too long, Hermione grabbed Draco by his hair and pressed her lips to his. At first, Draco was frozen. I did not think that would work, he thought. Finally gaining back his composure, Draco responded enthusiastically.

It was Hermione who finally pulled away to take a breath. Draco was still holding her face, looking right into her eyes.

"I love you, Hermione," Draco whispered. Hermione bit her lip.

"I love you, Draco," she replied.

And they both knew that neither of them had ever been so confident in those words.

"Make sure you're quiet, Harry, Hermione's probably sleeping," Ginny whispered, pulling Harry by his arm to the front door of the apartment she shared with Hermione.

"Please tell me again why you can't just move in with me so we don't have to worry about waking Hermione?" he replied, trailing behind her. Ginny unlocked the door and opened it as quietly as she could, then turned back to Harry.

"When I stop worrying about her, Harry," she said, her face suddenly sorrowful. Harry was silent. They tiptoed into the apartment, and Ginny stared at the kitchen area, bemused.

"Hermione left tea cups out on the counter? That's not like her. She always cleans up before bed..." she said.

"Erm, Ginny," Harry chuckled. "Maybe she was a little busy. Look."

Ginny turned to where Harry pointed and grinned.

Hermione was nestled into Draco's chest, her curls falling in her face. Draco's arm was snaked protectively around her waste, like he would never let go. The corners of their mouths were both upturned.

"Finally," Harry breathed. Ginny giggled.

"Why don't you ever hold me like that anymore?" she hissed, slapping his arm playfully. He laughed, loud.

"Shh!" Ginny derided. "They'll wake up!"

But little did she know, "they" hadn't slept so well in a month.