Okay, so I screwed up and missed out two key chapters at the beginning of my story. For those who were following the story when I published it, you can find the new content in chapter 2 "Lip Lock" and chapter 3 "Three Storeys Down". Sorry about the mix-up and the spam of notifications if you story-alerted me!

I Love(d) You (Once)

Chapter Six: Of Flowers and Fights

"Morning, Granger," Draco said as he held the lift door open for her. It appeared they had made the same choice and decided to spend Boxing Day catching up with the work they missed during their little Excursion to the Mar Company. She greeted him with a smile and unravelled her scarf from her neck as the elevator made its ascent. When they reached their office a brown owl hooted from its perch in greeting. A pink string secured an envelope on its leg and seeing this, Draco leaped at the bird, startling it.

"Is that from Director Mar?" asked Hermione, rushing up to him as the bird flew out of the window.

Draco stuffed the note into his pocket. "Um, this isn't from Director Mar."

"What are you hiding from me?"

"It's personal," he said, inching away. "I'd appreciate it if you don't pry and stick your nose into it."

"Fine," she said. "As long as it doesn't concern me, I don't need to know what is inside." She sat on her desk and began filling out her paperwork.

Draco took the note out of his pocket and began reading it, his lips forming silent words as was his habit when he read to himself. "Mother wants a formal meeting tonight. I think you know what you need to do before that." Draco sighed. He had forgotten all those pure-blood customs when it came to dating. He wondered if there was a way to worm out of this one…

"Pure-blood dating etiquette seems tedious! I'm so glad Ron's family doesn't stand for nonsense like that."

"Yeah, you're lucky. Do you know it means I'll have to buy flowers? Me! I have to walk into a flower shop! Maybe I should send Artie."

"But isn't that missing the point? I thought this was an indiscreet way to publicly admit that you're courting someone you intend to spend your life with. You order flowers, say who they're for, then the florist tells someone in the upper circles and it spreads."

"You sure know a lot about this. What, thought Weasley would follow it?"

Heat rose up her face. "So what if I did? I find it rather romantic. It's more sophisticated than shouting from a rooftop."

"Which I bet the Weasel did," he replied, but didn't see her shake her head. "Well, I find it rather nauseating—" Draco stopped mid-sentence and glared at her. "How did you know what the message was about?"

She grinned. "You have this cute habit of mouthing what you read and I just so happen to read lips."

"Hmph."

"Yes, I know. I am awesome."

"You mean troublesome," he said, picking up his coffee mug to hide the smile forming on his lips.

(A few hours later)

"Okay, this is the battle plan. Go in and out as quickly as possible. It's going to be like ripping off a band-aid. You can do it. Go, go go!" Draco muttered to himself as he stood outside the flower shop.

He hated flowers. Miserable things they were. He was allergic to them too. Going into a flower shop was like sending his immune system to war.

"I think you're overreacting."

Draco spun around to see Hermione behind him and frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Buying flowers? Why else would someone come here? Surely not to witness their colleague in a situation he's uncomfortable with."

"Ha, ha," he said, his expression sour like a pickled lemon. Then he brightened. "How about you go pick them up for me…"

"No can do!" said Hermione cheerfully. "You need to prove your love!" She dragged him in by the arm. "Now go!"

The bell rang as they entered and Draco stumbled over the threshold. He cursed as he regained his balance. A wave of sweet fragrance assaulted his senses. Draco eyed his surroundings; flowers lined the walls and grew in pots all over the floor, grouped in colours of red, orange, pink and yellow.

"How may I help you?" asked the lady by the counter. She was in her mid-forties and wore an orange apron. He looked down at her nametag. Jane.

"I want to make want to make a bouquet, one that will convey a message," he said.

"Who's the lucky girl?" Jane asked with a twinkle in her eye. When she saw Hermione at the back of the store beside the colourful bouquet of tulips she gasped. "Hermione Granger…? I thought she was with Ron Weasley…"

"Her? No." He shot Hermione a glare. "She's just… here. This is for Astoria. Astoria Greengrass."

"Oh! As a professional, would you mind telling me what the occasion is for? You see, the language of flowers is complex..."

"Just the standard one, thanks."

Jane squealed and hopped on one foot as though she'd just been asked out by the man of her dreams. "The standard? Oh, you two would do well together!"

"You know us?" he asked. Perhaps she was a relative? It wasn't hard to assume someone was related to you when you were a pure-blood.

"No, I'm just… well-informed," she said as she tied up the stems of the selected flowers with a silky purple ribbon.

"Excuse me?"

"I hope she likes them." Jane handed him the receipt.

"What?" he said in response to Hermione's slack-jaw gaze as he exited the store and into the busy street.

"B-But!"

"But what?" said Draco and grinned. There was only one other time he managed to make Hermione speechless…

She pointed at the bouquet with disbelief. "How did you know there a standard bouquet to choose?"

Draco shrugged. "I've been in there before. A couple of times, actually."

"Oh?" said Hermione, surprised by the idea. "Oh! Pansy—"

"Sh!" said Draco, clamping his hand over Hermione's mouth. He looked around the street in apprehension and fear.

"What was that about?" she asked when he finally relaxed his grip on her.

"She's like the Devil," he whispered as though he was afraid of someone hearing them. "Say her name and she'll appear out of nowhere."

"You're not cheating on her with Astoria are you? I thought you two broke up when you went to America. Well, I suppose it wouldn't make much sense if you're going to meet Astoria's mother…"

Draco shook his head. "I need to tell her myself."

"You think she still cares about you?"

"Not in that way, but she's going to throw a fit if she finds out I wasn't the first person she told. I should call her and arrange a time to meet up before she learns from someone else. Gotta run!"

Draco hailed a hansom cab and disappeared into it. Hermione kicked a loose pebble on the ground.

"So he's going to meet your mother? After two months?" Theo asked Astoria as she plaited her hair in her bedroom. "If I knew things could happen so fast, I would've requested an audience three days in."

"Shut up," said Astoria, admiring herself in the mirror. "I'm just going to pretend you're really not there."

"Good luck with that." He pulled the dark purple drapes from Astoria's childhood bedroom and saw a hansom carriage rolling up to the mansion. "Here's your fake lover-boy."

"And you're a flake," she snapped at him. "Can you just go away? I can't handle you. I'm trying to move on!"

Theo gave her a smile. "You know I'm only here because you wanted me to be."

"Key word there is wanted. It's past tense. I better not see you here again."

Theo climbed onto the bed. "Your delusions are at my command."

The door slammed behind Astoria as she made her way down to greet Draco. She put on a smile, because what girl wouldn't be happy seeing the love of her life? The house-elf had already helped him out of his coat and put his bouquet of flowers into a vase. Seeing her face light up to the sight of him, Draco smiled more out of reflex than courtesy. Two people involved in a ploy to trick others for one's gain always gave birth to a sense of comradery.

"Pre-made?" she asked as she leaned in for a hug, and made a face as he wrapped his arms around her body.

"I guess one can only get the standard bouquet so many times before she realizes," Draco replied snarkily when he saw her shift in demeanour.

"Just don't mess up." She turned her head and her voice and expression morphed into that of a sweet angel. "Mother?"

"The sitting room," Mrs. Greengrass said before disappearing into a room upstairs.

Astoria led Draco up the flight of stairs and he smirked at the name plaque hanging in front of her door. "I made that when I was six," she said, feeling the need to explain. "I have a problem with letting things go." She thought about who was in her room and sighed. Not healthy, Astoria, she chided herself.

Mrs. Greengrass took a delicate sip from her fine china. Cissy's boy with my darling Astoria! "What do you do?" she asked as a conversation starter. She already knew in reality, having done extensive background checks on Draco. Mrs. Greengrass knew things about him and she suspected something sinister under that winsome mask of his.

"I work under Maurice Pucey in his consulting firm," said Draco. He sat up straight on the chair and tried his best to appear polite and respectful.

"I don't want to waste my time. May I be direct?"

"Sure," said Draco, eager to be away from this situation as quickly as possible.

"How much do you earn per year?"

The question took Draco by surprise. He frowned, trying to figure out what his salary was. "Excuse me?"

"If you're serious about pursuing my daughter, I want to know whether you'd be able to provide for her. I know you're under patronage of Pucey and your fortune has—"

"About four thousand galleons."

Astoria's eyes shot open. She'd thought Draco would make more money than that!

"I've only worked in the company for two years, so my salary is a bit…"

"Underwhelming," Mrs. Greengrass supplied for him. "But I heard from Mrs. Pucey you may become head of the company after Maurice retires?"

"Maybe," said Draco, shrugging. "But not anytime soon."

Mrs. Greengrass raised an eyebrow. "We'll see if we can speed that up."

Draco kept his face neutral. "Planning to kill him off?"

Mrs. Greengrass screeched in laughter. Draco fought the urge to cover his ears. "Like you did with your father?"

"Mother!"

"Did I say something untrue?" She turned to face Draco with a sly smile on her face.

Draco froze and uttered the phrase that he used so often, it had become a cliché to him: "I'm innocent."

"I see," she said, not convinced in the slightest. "As long as you can provide for Astoria… she's a silly girl who needs a man to protect her and keep her in line."

"Draco loves me, I'm sure he'll provide and do the best for me," interrupted Astoria firmly, shooting a glance at Draco. "Tell Mother how much you love me."

Draco opened his mouth, pausing for just a moment. Any further hesitation would be suspicious. "For our generation… that is, the generation which faced the War in our teens, two months is quite a long time," he said, words spilling from his mouth as quickly as he could say them. "Times have changed. We are in the modern age. Muggle technology is mixed with Wizardry. As a result, our sense of time has changed. Two minutes for us, is too long to wait for a meal," he finished, thinking of instant noodles in the lunchroom sink.

"Go on."

"One thing we learnt from science is that time is relative," said Draco and he held his hand to his heart and made his voice wobble. In the past it let him get away with almost everything. "We can't define love in the hours, minutes and seconds with that person. We define it by the quality of time we spent together." He knew nothing about relativity and was certain he'd gotten it wrong but doubted either of the Greengrass ladies could catch him out on that.

"That's beautiful, Draco."

Draco's eyes widened in surprise for he hadn't expected his words to touch Astoria. Wait… he couldn't tell if his words actually moved her or if she was only pretending. He started down at his shoes and took a sip of his tea as though he were embarrassed by his outburst which he had no power to control because of the hot, raging passion he felt for the younger Greengrass in the room.

"I do believe your words are as sincere as they can be," Mrs. Greengrass said, "but you have only been together for two months. Draco, I'm interested to know how much you love my daughter and what you're willing to do to prove it."

Draco's head shot up and he smirked at Astoria, giving her a wink when he was certain her mother wasn't looking.

"It still stands whether your actions are sincere. I will be keeping an ear out for your efforts. Thank you for visiting us today, Draco. Binkie will see you out," she said, snapping her fingers.

Their house-elf, donned in curtain scraps appeared and bowed. "Please come this way, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco rose from his seat and bowed to Mrs. Greengrass. "Thank you for inviting me." He turned to face Astoria and gave her a toothy grin. "I'll owl you."

"Bye," said Astoria, waving her hand and mirroring his expression.

When Draco left the room with Binkie, Mrs. Greengrass raised an eyebrow and gave her daughter a look that could have melted glass. "Do you still see Theodore Nott?"

Astoria bit into a cookie. "What do you mean?"

Mrs. Greengrass gave a frosty laugh. "I've known Draco since he was born; his little speech was touching but he takes after Lucius. That parting smile of his, there has to be more than meets the eye."

"You're suspicious because he smiled? Maybe he's just happy. Sometimes people smile when they're happy."

"He was smirking, like he's above me."

"Oh, that expression? I think it's genetically wired in. Don't mind it." She shrugged and picked at her sheer white tights.

"I know for a fact, you still see Theodore," Mrs. Greengrass. "You didn't think I could hear you speak to him through your bedroom door?"

"Mother, I—"

"And now you're telling me that you love Cissy's son? He's your one and only? Don't make me laugh."

"He is my number one."

"Do you remember how Daphne used to cry when Draco said snide things to her? Don't you remember the tears you wiped away and all the glamour charms you cast to hide her puffy eyes? Are you telling me that's the kind of man you want to marry?"

"You think you know me so well." Astoria leaned forward and said quietly. "But I'm crazy, remember?"

Mrs. Greengrass turned red. "You… you want to date someone acted that way to your sister?"

"Don't ever use Daphne's memory like that. It's low, even for you." Astoria's expression stiffened and she glared at her mother. "If you're worried about your precious family prestige, don't worry. Draco fits your bill perfectly. He's well-liked by the decent people, rich, can trace his ancestors back to the Founder's Era and will look incredible in wedding photos. We'll have cute children you can brag about."

Mrs. Greengrass stood up from her seat, aghast at Astoria's accusation. She hurled her saucer at the table and it sent the cake tray flying. The metal pan crashed onto the floor and cake skidded across the carpet. Astoria cringed at the sorry sight. "Everything's gone wrong—oh… oh…"

"Here, take my handkerchief. Never, at any crisis of your life…" she started. "Well, you ought to know the rest. Except you wouldn't because you're strictly still anti-anything that doesn't conform to the old ways." She grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

"Astoria. Astoria!" Her mother grabbed her by the arm.

She spun on her heel and glared at her mother. "What?"

"I'm going to let you date him," she said, gripping her daughter so tightly the diamonds on her fingers dug into Astoria's skin. "If he does prove his sincere intentions, then…"

"Prove what?" Ron scowled as he paced back and forth across the room. Hermione sat on the bed cross-legged. She knew she was charging straight into an argument but it was not in her nature to avoid issues because of this.

"You wouldn't mind if I called Harry right now and asked him about it?"

"Harry's busy!" said Ron, throwing his hands into the air. "I don't think he would appreciate you asking whether he remembers the price of that broomstick. I doubt he would even remember something like that."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. A rush of red dyed Ron's ears. "Ginny then. She would."

"She would, but she's probably busy with her job… and being pregnant," mumbled Ron. Then he frowned, having just thought of something. "Don't you trust me?" he asked, sounding wounded.

"As your girlfriend, I should trust you enough to take what you say as the truth." Ron brightened and approached her with his arms wide open, ready to give her a bone-crushing hug. She held up her hand, for she hadn't finished yet. "But your whole body posture's screaming you're hiding something. You've never been good at lying."

"You promised you'd never read me!" he spluttered, his facing turning red. "All the stuff that you learnt at that fancy-shamy institute of yours, you promised you'd never use it against me!"

Hermione stood up from the bed, indignant. "I'm not using it against you, Ron. I couldn't help it. I'm saying this for your own good, for us." She swung her arms across her body, gesturing to their humble abode. "I thought we were saving up for our dream home."

"We are."

"I don't want to be stuck here. I want to own a house—not an apartment, but an actual house… I want…"

"We don't have money because you insisted on studying abroad."

"Are you trying to say going to university was a waste of money?"

"It wasn't a waste," Ron said, back-pedalling before her temper blew up in his face. "But you've got to face the facts. You used up a lot of our money so I don't think you have the right to yell at me when I use some for myself."

"I was on full scholarship."

"For the school fees, but everything else—the accommodation, the commuting costs… it adds up. If you had taken the job the Ministry offered you right after the war…"

Hermione shook her head. "How could they expect an eighteen-year old to be the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"I'unno. You're smart, Hermione, I know you could have handled it. And if you had taken up the offer, we'd be rolling in Galleons right now instead of having to save up on food stickers."

They glared at each other, fuming. She closed her eyes, wishing she was someplace else. She hated fighting with Ron, she loved him, but when they fought it was awful. Both of them were stubborn; they loved proving themselves right but hated being proven wrong.

Ron shifted uneasily under Hermione's gaze, for he knew they were treading in dangerous territory full of landmines. "Is this really about the broom?" Ron asked in a quiet voice. He exhaled and pressed his shins against the bed. "Are you that unhappy with our situation?"

Her expression softened. She dropped her arms down onto her lap and sighed. She didn't know what she was feeling. "I feel like things aren't going so well in life right now. Especially at work, so I'm being extra touchy on things," she confessed.

"Finally gone crazy working with Malfoy?" he asked, lacing his fingers with hers. She chuckled lightly and shook her head. Ron sat down on the bed and kissed her forehead. "Sorry, I wasn't being fair on you. I know we're not doing so hot right now, but that's going to change. George has finally gotten better and I think he can run the shop on his own. So I'm... I'm going to apply for the Auror trainee program and take the test again. Third time lucky, right?"

Hermione shook her head. "You said you didn't want to fight evil and liked how you could make people laugh instead."

He planted a kiss on Hermione's cheek. "As fulfilling as that is, it's not providing enough. And you're not satisfied with things they are now. Like you said, you want a place for our own. You're right. We can't live here forever," said Ron, then he brightened. "But at least we're close to The Burrow. And if all fails, if we have too many kids or something, we can always tell Mom and Dad to swap houses..."

"Ron," she yelped, genuinely appalled at the vision he painted for her. He saw the fear clouding in her eyes so for her sake, drew a smile on his face and punched her on the shoulder to show he was joking around.

"Kidding, kidding," he lied.

She knew what he was doing for her and she pulled on a smile with some effort. "You take care of me so well."

As if in a charade, he gave her a lop-sided grin, "I aim to please!"

That night Ron cried beside Hermione but she did not notice, for a lifetime spent in a household full of teasing brothers perfected his skills in silent weeping. When he was done, he turned to his side to observe the perfect and beautiful woman sleeping beside him. Love isn't about fluttering hearts or romantic kisses, Ron thought. It's about compromises and sacrifices. Theirs was a deliberate whittling of afflictions which one day would flourish into a fruitful bond. The violent turnings within his chest had to be love. He wouldn't accept anything it to be anything else. It just wouldn't make sense. Only love could hurt him like this.

Right?