Hello everyone and Happy Tuesday!
It's my first time to write a Valentine fic, so I hope you like it.
Never Had a Valentine
Tuesday.
That was all today was. A normal Tuesday, glorified by the fact that 7th Years were allowed in Hogsmeade.
I woke up and I was the last one left in bed. Of course. Everyone had gone out. I thought I'd heard several giggles. Maybe a whiff or two of some roses. And carnations. Oh Hermione, just stop.
When I walked outside the common room, I thought there was another war. Everything was…red. Or pink. Or both. And everyone seemed oddly clingy today. There wasn't one person who wasn't connected to another. I felt naked. No one was protecting me. At the same time I want to barf at the idea of actually wanting someone. Eww.
I reached the Gryffindor table and found solace in my…friend. Harry, to be exact. Ron was hopelessly attached to a certain Lavender Brown.
"Happy Valentines Hermione," Harry said as I plopped down next to him and began to load my plate with the odd heart-shaped waffles. I almost strangled him for that insult. How dare he say the V-Word? Today is my day. He knew that.
You see, I am not a bitter person. I don't care about being the only girl in the year who's single. I don't care about being the only girl who hasn't received anything—not a single thing—not even once. I don't care if people are so happily in a relationship whereas I still don't know the feeling. I don't care if the people I thought I'd shared something special with people turned out to think of me as their "friend" or "little sister," because, you know. Everyone can just go fuck themselves.
No, I am not a bitter person. Except on this day. On this cursed day when everyone was allowed to snog openly. To declare their love. To be corny and not look stupid. I am only allowed to be bitter on this day where I am nothing but a mere observer of everything.
I told you, I am not bitter. Except on Val...Ugh I can't even say the word.
"Sorry," Harry replied sheepishly after I gave him a death glare.
"You going to Hogsmeade today?" Ron asked.
"No," Harry and I said in unison.
It was around two years ago when I started counting. Counting the "almost-theres," the "just-a-bit-mores," and the "will-soon-be-mines." Counting the flowers and chocolates that I was deprived of on this special day. Counting the years when no one came up to me with so much as a peppermint humbug.
Eventually, all the bitterness just…exploded. Harry and Ron hated my bitterness. They always reprimanded me because of it. But eventually they realized that I couldn't just bottle up all my emotions. They allowed me one day a year.
And the day has come. Whoop de fucking doo.
I looked to the great doors of the Great Hall to see who would walk in without a flower or candy or a balloon.
In walked a couple. Then another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another.
God. Sometimes I wonder why I play this game.
Then I see Luna Lovegood. She isn't holding anything.
YES!
But then comes Neville.
And gave her a flower. A pretty pink rose.
I try and remember what the colors meant. Pink meant crush.
Oh.
"You know what, I lost my appetite," I said, pushing the food away from me. Then I stood up to spend the day.
Even though today was my day to be bitter, I didn't want to spend the day being jealous. So I went to the one place that I knew would be deserted—my dorm.
I contemplated. About myself. About my life. About my personality. About who I am. About how I think people see me as. In the end, I concluded that there was simply no reason why I should be eighteen and still loveless since birth.
Once again, everything managed to be annoying.
I'd contemplated so much that I skipped lunch. They were all at Hogsmeade, that much I knew. No use going to the Great Hall to eat by myself and look fucking depressed.
Before I knew it, night was falling and my stomach was growling. I went to the Great Hall for a self-pity party for one. Harry plopped down beside me while I was playing with my greens and loaded his plate as well.
"Having a great day?" he asked.
"Gee, you think?" I snapped. Then I put my fork down. "Ugh. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," he replied. "Besides, you're allowed to aren't you?"
I continued eating and contemplated again. Why did I have the sudden urge to talk to him about why I hate the day so much? Then as soon as that urge presented itself, it was gone. There, then gone. And then there again. And—oh you know what I mean.
Now I am trying to think of the fact that maybe I'm just a teensy bit insane.
Lucky for me, I didn't have to open the topic.
"Hogsmeade was packed," he said exasperatedly after swallowing his mouthful of food.
Tell me something I don't know. "I thought you weren't going?"
"I didn't want to look depressed, so I pretended to be out shopping."
"Gee, that makes me feel better.
Do you know how much full-blown bouquets cost these days?" he continued. He didn't wait for a respond. "Ten fucking galleons."
"That's insane," I remarked.
"I know right," he said. "It's like they want us to boycott the day."
He continued eating and then swallowed.
"Nowadays, guys just have to go for a long-stemmed rose," he said.
"No one can go wrong with long-stemmed," I defended. "It's simple, sweet and not flashy. Plus it's not bulky and hard to carry. Any girl would go for a long-stemmed, unless of course you're dating a slut, then you better give them a full-blown bouquet. That's what they're after. The material stuff."
"So you definitely think that long-stemmed roses are better?" he confirmed.
"Yeah." We continued eating dinner in silence. Well, not exactly so silent since random squealing would suddenly echo through the hall. I finished my dinner as soon as possible and made a mad dash for my dorm.
I had nothing left to contemplate except my non-existent sex life (which I'd rather not discuss with myself about) so I just lay in bed thinking one by one of the boys in my life and writing them mental letters, ridiculously hoping that my negative brainwaves would be enough for the notes to reach them.
To my Dad, you are awesome.
To grandpa, I love you and I miss you so much.
To Viktor Krum, don't you dare send me anything. Write me a letter my ass. I never heard from you ever again.
To Neville Longbottom, I'm sorry but it will never work out. Shit, I just sound like one of them.
To Dean Thomas, being Muggleborn is the only thing we have in common. Oh and we're both Gryffindors too.
To Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott, what weird friendships we have, don't you think?
To Ron Weasley, I know you're my best friend and all, but fuck you.
To Harry Potter, what the fuck. You know everything.
Soon the recipient of my last letter was sending me downstairs. I know because my DA coin is still beside me all the time. I stood up lazily and padded downstairs.
"What?" I said grumpily.
"Come here, I wanna ask you something," he said. "My broom's doing something funny. Can you go check it out?"
"Sure," I said, making a beeline for the boys dorm. He grabbed my wrist.
"Not there," he said. And he dragged me outside the common room.
Ugh. The day has thirty minutes left. Why are there still so many people outside? Aren't they supposed to be shagging already?
He dragged me all the way to the broom cupboard near the Quidditch Pitch.
"Is it inside?" I asked. Then he was covering my eyes with a black scarf. "Harry Potter! What the fuck? Who the fuck do you think you are?"
"Oh shut up, it's not what you think," he said. Then he took my hand in his and guided me. Soon, I could feel the grass crunching under my feet. Then he let go of me. I stopped walking. I felt his fingers fumble with the scarf. He loosened it up, but didn't take it off completely. I hated games like this, so I ripped it off and threw it to the ground.
And there he was, holding a single long-stemmed rose in front of me. Behind him was an elaborate floating tea candle formation that was in the shape of a heart. Red and white rose petals were strewn on the grass.
"H-Harry," I said shakily. I felt my breath hitch. "What the—"
"I figured your Valentine's Day should be different for once," he said. "So you'd stop counting obsessively. I thought I'd break the record. Will you be my Valentine?"
For some reason, I was miffed. I hit him on the arm.
"You could have saved me an entire day of moping around," I said. "You wasted what could possibly have been the best Valentine's Day of my life. We only have—" I checked my watch "—fifteen minutes left."
"Shut up and dance with me," he said. "And let's make this the best fifteen minutes of Valentine's you've ever had."
He took my hand and guided me to the floating candles, which opened to let us in and expanded so we can move around in it. Then music filled the air.
"O Children," I commented. "Really?" He just shrugged.
So we spun around in circles, him in his jeans, Gryffindor Quidditch jersey and blue hoodie, and me in sweats, a tank top and a varsity jacket.
I checked my watch again.
"Valentine's will be over in three…two…"
I didn't even get the chance to finish counting down because he kissed me. Not a kiss on the cheek. Not a kiss on the forehead. Not a friendly kiss. A real kiss. A kiss kiss.
Maybe Harry was able to change the way I look at this day. Or maybe not.
We'll see.
Thanks for reading! Please review :D