Thick flakes of snow piled up on the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade. Witches and wizards of all ages slowly trickled in, conversing and getting and out of shops. In this particular day, however, more pairs were visible. Red and pink sparks showered the crisp blue air, and squeals of delight escaped from the mouths of witches. Another witch entered the main street to head into the Three Broomsticks. She was alone, and rubbed her bare hands, blowing steaming breath into them.
Hermione Granger grumbled at her luck. It was a complete surprise when Harry and Ron had come up with dates and asked-no, begged-her to stay behind while they went with their-ugh-girlfriends. Not that she was jealous or anything; there was no need for that kind of companionship anyways. It was just the delivery of the news: even though they looked sincerely sorry, it wasn't an excuse to ditch her-
No, it wasn't ditching. Besides, they deserved to be out, the O.W.L.s would be coming soon. It was just that sometimes, they pushed her out of their "other" friend group. Sometimes it felt like they were simply using her for their purposes, but that was, of course, not true. Both friends were loyal, and she would do anything for them, as she would back. Even if they were idiots from time to time.
She stumbled on a curb, and staggered, almost falling down on her face. Muttering, she ran into another person head on. It was a hard crash; the person had been carrying something, and it tumbled to the ground along with him.
Him? Sure enough, the person had the figure of a lanky yet strangely built boy, maybe around her age. He mumbled under his breath just loud enough for her to hear: "Well, look at that, another klutz to grace these streets. How fun."
Hermione flushed, and stood up at the same time as the boy. "I'll have you know," she fumed, "that I was just-"
She stopped as she saw his face. The unmistakable platinum blond hair, molten silver eyes, the pointed face, the scowl that was also replaced by a look of surprise for a millisecond, and settled back into it's original position.
"-thinking," she choked out. Her face turned redder. "Malfoy? What are you doing-"
"I'll have you know, Mudblood, that I don't stay cooped up in the Slytherin common room all day," Draco spat.
"Well, wouldn't it be better that way?" she hissed back, still rubbing her hands. Despite the warming of her face, her hands stayed frigidly cold and relatively stiff. "That way, I wouldn't have to gaze upon your ugly ferret face."
"What was that about my face?" he scowled deeper, lines of anger creasing his brow. It made him look very unflattering. He wasn't the usual aloof Malfoy; he was, for some reason, highly irritated at something. Maybe her. "Of course a dirty little Mudblood like you wouldn't understand why I'm here."
You didn't have to be a Mudblood to question what he was doing. And why would he suddenly change the topic? It was completely out of the blue. She looked at the floor, where the toppled item lay at rest. Flowers?
"What are you doing with flowers, Malfoy? Is it how to torture your next victim, with pollen?" she retorted.
"Maybe I will," he shot back, but the coral pink paper and plastic wrapping the bottom said otherwise. The flowers were an arrangement of freshly picked daisies and carnations speckled in a wide bouquet of roses, her favorite type of flower. The roses' aroma was so strong and sweet that a charm must have been involved. It looked very expensive.
"Who is that for?" she found herself asking. Draco looked surprised, as if he was expecting more insults, which he was. Hermione was surprised herself; there wasn't a hint of venom in her voice.
"There's no need for you to know, Granger," he said slowly with narrowed eyes. "What are you getting at?"
"I'm surprised."
"What for?"
"I didn't know you had the capacity to do something so sweet for someone else." It was the truth, and no sarcasm was laid in her voice.
He tried to exaggerate pleasure and dramatically placed a hand on his heart. "Why, Granger, such a compliment! You couldn't come up with something better?" he smirked.
"Don't expect any more, Malfoy," she scoffed. "I think you were just leaving."
"Sharp observation." He brushed off snow accumulating on his shoulders. "Where is Potty and the Weasel? Blabbering and doing who knows what, no doubt."
She turned away. "They're not here." Hermione tried to keep hurt out of her voice, and continued. "They took some girls out to a...restaurant, I think. Or a park."
The Slytherin grinned maliciously. "Missing them, Granger? Of course you would want to lay it on thick with those idiots. Probably Weasel-"
"Ugh! No!" she exclaimed angrily, and almost stomped her foot. Why was she always accused of liking her friends as more than friends? She thought of them as brothers, not...ugh! "Honestly, if I hear anyone else say that about me, I'll hex them so hard they'll wish they were dead!"
"Merlin, calm down, Granger!" he snickered. "I didn't know you were so defensive."
"I'm...usually not," she fumed. "Thanks a lot, cockroach."
"No problem, know-it-all."
"Malfoy..."
"Granger..."
"You're impossible!"
"Thank you."
"Argh!" She threw her hands up in the air. "I'm done. I don't even know why I came alone to Hogsmeade on bloody Valentine's Day-"
"Wait. You came alone?" Draco asked with a smidge of marvel in his voice. "In what stage of stupidity would you even consider going alone-you don't have a date?"
"No, they're a waste of time. Why do you need to know?" she replied gloomily.
"I don't have a date either."
"Huh?" She whipped around, shocked. How does someone like Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Prince, the rich, snobby, good-looking...You had to admit, he was pretty handsome. It didn't mean anything, though. But how did he not have a date? "Are you pulling my leg?"
He looked at her confusedly. "What are you talking about, Granger? I didn't even touch your leg in this entire conversation, much less pull it. And why would I?" he smirked.
Hermione sighed. "Never mind, it's just an expression." She looked down, to see that a single rose had fallen down on the ground. It looked so perfect that she couldn't resist picking it up. The scent of it wafted all around; it was overwhelming, in a good way. Resisting an urge to keep it to herself, she gave it back to Draco.
"Here," she said quietly. "To whomever this is for, they're lucky."
"...Thanks," he replied, also with a low voice. He looked confused by the sudden change in the mood of the conversation. He must have been cold, because his cheeks showed a slight tinge of pink. "...I have to go. I hope not to see you later, Granger." As harsh as his words were, there was no malice in it this time. He ran off, clutching the bouquet close to his chest. His cloak billowed behind him, making him look like a bird in flight.
"Ditto!" she called out, but her heart wasn't in it today. She looked at her left, her original destination-The Three Broomsticks.
She slowly departed, walking back to the castle.
~o0o~
The boys weren't back, and everybody else was at dinner. Hermione thought skipping one dinner wouldn't be too bad, and she didn't feel hungry anyways; so she went straight to the Gryffindor Common Room.
"Petra Pluvia," she muttered to the Fat Lady. She nodded, and her painting swept past her, opening to the common room. Nobody was inside.
She immediately ran up to the armchair nearest to the roaring fireplace, and sank low into it. The witch sighed, a million thoughts running through her head. These were times when she wished her parents were a few minutes away, times like this where she felt alone and lost, times and feelings no amount of books could fix.
She looked around her surroundings, taking in the scene she had grown so accustomed to. The red banners running all around the ceiling; the two doors on the left and right of her, one leading to the girls' dormitory and the other to the boys'; the maroon and goldenrod wallpaper that had the occasional ornamental lion running through; the armchairs stationed near the fireplace, like the one she was sitting in right now and the one across her...
...Which, unlike any time before, had a letter on top of it. It was a sugar pink color, and on the top was the word "To Hermione Granger" in curlicue letters, looping and weaving the center of the back. There was no return address, or any other name on it.
She grabbed the envelope, and ripped it open with an open curiosity. If she didn't know any better, she would say it was for Valentine's Day; but of course she wasn't liked by any other boys. Which was fine, of course.
Inside was stationary, this time in a blush pink color with silver adornments running through the edges. It constantly flowed, switching positions. It reminded her a lot of a flowing stream. There were only a few words written on it:
"For Hermione Granger, the only witch who has captured my eye. -F"
Who was F? She didn't know anybody that had a name starting with F except for Fred. It wouldn't be him, though, would it? It could have been the last name too, but she only knew Seamus Finnigan, and that wasn't a possibility either.
"It's too late for deep contemplation," she moaned, and stormed up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. The letter remained clutched in her hand. Or maybe it wasn't even the real name of the person-a nickname? Still no luck.
She plopped on her bed, laying down without changing. There was a strangely pleasant aroma in the room. Probably a gift for another girl, she darkly thought.
To her surprise, it was coming from a source right next to her. Lazily turning her head, she saw a bouquet next to her. The flowers were an arrangement of freshly picked daisies and carnations speckled in a wide bouquet of roses, her favorite type of flower.
The exact same Draco had that day in Hogsmeade.
Hermione almost started to hyperventilate. "No way," she talked out loud to herself. "No way would the ferret-"
She froze again, staring back at the card in her hand. The handwriting suddenly looked familiar, the same curling letters inside the Slytherin's potions book in Potions class for the past five years. The ending, F, for ferret.
It couldn't have been right. It didn't feel right, for sure. But there wasn't any other explanation. Did she actually like Malfoy? The one who had tormented Harry, Ron and her? The one who always taunted her about her Mudblood status? Was this the same Draco, the same Pureblood wizard she had grown to hate...or so she thought?
Anyways, she didn't have to tell anyone. This would be her secret. She lifted up the roses near her nose, inhaling the scent. The fumes must have made her dizzy, since a wide grin settled on her face and she dropped back on her bed, laughing brightly as the moonlight fell on her through the window. The snow continued to fall down in thick flakes, swooping down and settling on another figure of a boy outside it on the grounds, cheeks flushed and smiling like he had never before himself.