By the time Hermione left her flat, she had nearly talked herself out of it a dozen times. He likely didn't want to see her, he hadn't responded kindly to her owl earlier, and there was a good chance she was going to make things worse.

Cormac usually didn't leave the Ministry until after five and she didn't want to bother him during dinner, so she decided to wait until the evening. But if she Apparated to his house and he wasn't even home, she would feel foolish—although there was no way she could feel any more foolish than she already did.

It was in that vein of thought that she finally forced herself out of the door. According to George, Cormac had a house in a small magical community south of London; she had eyed the houses there herself on more than one occasion, but Hermione still preferred the convenience of living in a flat.

At half seven, she found herself on what she hoped to be Cormac's front porch, heart pounding in her chest and nausea churning in her stomach.

Her dating life had never been all that special, and she wasn't the type to do grand gestures very well. She wasn't even sure if this counted. But as she waited on the door, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the evening air, she once more fought the urge to run.

Gryffindor courage be damned.

When she had all but convinced herself he wasn't even home, the door swung open. For a long moment, Cormac eyed her with a blank stare, then he swept a hand through his hair. He wore only jeans and a t-shirt, and looked at odds with the version of him she saw every day at the Ministry. "Hermione. What are you doing here?"

It was a relief he didn't ask her how she knew where he lived, because she didn't know whether she wanted to recount her visit with George that afternoon.

Instead, she forced herself to draw a breath and met his blue stare. "I wanted to see you."

She wasn't quite certain, but she thought Cormac rolled his eyes, before folding his arms across his chest. "This isn't a good time."

Bile rose up her throat at the implication as her eyes widened in horror. "You have company—" Backing away from the door, she muttered, "Merlin—I'm sorry to intrude."

Her heart clenched painfully in her chest at the thought that he was entertaining another woman, but it was Valentine's Day after all, and she didn't know all that much about his personal life.

"What?" Cormac exclaimed, "No!" After a moment he grimaced, and repeated, "No. I don't have company. But I am in the middle of something."

"Right," Hermione bit out, recognising the dismissal, though it ate her up inside. She suspected she deserved as much after the way she had treated him the day before. Ducking her chin into a nod, she added, "I just—I only wanted to say I was sorry. In person."

He eyed her for a long moment from beneath thick lashes. "Thanks."

She felt the hot sting of shame in her cheeks and barrelled on, not knowing whether he would be willing to hear her out again if she left now. "Because I might have been wrong—about your mistletoe, you know."

The hardness in his expression faltered for a moment as he dragged a hand along the back of his neck. "It isn't magical." Jaw clenched, he glanced back inside the house. "I had a friend in the Department of Mysteries take a look at it."

"You what—" she choked, eyes widening.

As if consulting an Unspeakable over a bit of holiday decor was nothing, Cormac shrugged. "He owed me a favour."

Despite herself and the tense situation, she couldn't help a quiet titter from escaping. He scowled for a moment before his lips twitched, but then his face went blank again.

"I guess," Hermione breathed, digging deep for the last shreds of her courage, "I didn't know what to make of the way I've been feeling about you."

Cormac glanced away, down the street, and drawled, "Because it couldn't possibly have been real?"

With a wince, she folded her arms on instinct, withdrawing into herself. "I wasn't sure if there was some spell at play, and then I didn't want to…" Trailing off, she dragged her bottom lip between her teeth. She blew out a long breath. "Anyways, I only wanted to say—I'm really sorry. I think you're great, and as it turns out, I made a big mess of the situation. I regret that I've hurt you." Her eyes burned with the effort to withhold tears and she concluded with a feeble, "I hope you enjoy your evening."

She turned to walk down the front step until his voice halted her in her tracks.

"Hermione." When she froze, cautioning a glance back, he sighed. "The offer stands, I suppose."

"Offer?"

His eyes rolled, even as a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "If you wanted to not celebrate Valentine's Day together."

Relief seized her heart, and she couldn't help the smile from pulling across her face. "I'd like that."

"Come on, then," he muttered, "fucking cold out."

Cormac's home, as she learned as she crossed the threshold, was a study in Cormac. His kitchen was tidy and spotless; shelves lined the walls of his sitting room, some featuring an organised library of books, while others displayed odd collections of knickknacks.

Standing on one end table was a small Christmas tree, although it was pink and red with small white baubles; Hermione was reminded that George said Cormac was fond of incorrect seasonal decor, and idly, she wondered whether it was another gift.

"I made you something," she blurted, turning to Cormac. "It isn't anything fancy, of course…"

He blinked at her mutely in surprise, and Hermione fumbled in the inner pocket of her coat for the item she had spent the better part of the afternoon preparing.

Cormac stared at it with a furrow in his brow, bringing it closer to his face as he squinted at it.

Weakly, Hermione muttered, "It's a turtle."

"You made this?" he asked, his voice quiet. "For me?"

"Yes." The small decorative turtle sat easily atop his palm, and each scule of its shell had a different, contrasting pattern. Its face featured large eyes with long eyelashes and arched brows, and a cheesy grin full of teeth.

He gave a low snort, and then a chuckle. "How clever. Look at its face."

She managed, "It's anatomically incorrect."

With a flash of a wry grin, he said, "Thanks, Hermione. It's great." Carefully rearranging a few items on one shelf, he placed the turtle in the middle, in a place of honour. She felt oddly touched. "Come on. I'll show you what I've been working on."

He led her back towards the kitchen table where a large, life-like Quidditch pitch model sat. A collection of miniature brooms were lined up beside it in two different colours.

"It's a small Quidditch pitch," she said, blinking down at it.

Cormac twisted his mouth to the side. "I build and collect miniature Quidditch models. The brooms are getting a coat of polish."

There was something terribly endearing about it, and Hermione couldn't help a smile as she peered down at the small field, complete with all the proper features. "Did you craft this yourself?"

He nodded. "It's real grass, but it keeps outgrowing its stasis charm so I have to keep it trimmed."

"Of course," she said, brows high. "And which teams do the colours signify?"

"This year's seats for the World Cup haven't been determined yet," he said, matter-of-fact, as if she followed international Quidditch, "so they're currently still last year's teams."

Hermione didn't know which teams had played the previous year, but she wasn't keen to voice the thought. She gave a non-committal hum, before reaching for one of the miniature brooms. "May I?"

When he nodded, canting his head to the side, she peered closer at one of the brooms. There was an incredible amount of fine detail in them, and she found herself impressed by the craftsmanship. Quietly, she admitted, "My father would love this. He's always built hobby miniatures."

"Good man," Cormac returned, but his expression was soft. Although she had been able to restore her parents' memories after the war, her relationship with them had never been the same; they hadn't understood the depth of the war, and had taken it as a violation of trust. She knew Cormac knew well enough about the situation. With a wave of his wand, the fourteen miniature brooms flew into formation inside the pitch, and he offered a crooked smile. "I can finish polishing them tomorrow."

Still staring at the pitch, she breathed, "I don't know that I would have the patience for all that detail."

"When I set my heart to something," Cormac said as he glanced her way with a flippant shrug that belied the sentiment to his words, "I have trouble letting it go."

Her own heart jumped in her chest at the admission, and she opened her mouth to speak. "Cor, I—"

But he held up a hand. "Can I get you something to drink? Water? Juice? Wine?"

"Water would be good, thanks."

Cormac fixed two glasses of water and led her back into the sitting room; following his lead, she took a seat on the sofa, taking a sip from her glass before setting it carefully on a coaster.

Gaze held on the coffee table, he broke the silence. "I was an idiot when we were at Hogwarts." With a soft chuckle, he went on before she could speak. "I was aggressively forward; I thought I knew everything, and honestly, I was a prat to you."

"You weren't a prat," she huffed, side-eyeing him.

Cormac lifted a single brow, as if in disbelief. "I knew you were interested in Ron Weasley, and I thought he was wrong for you and I just thought if I pushed harder for your attention, I'd get it. But you just liked him better—and that's okay."

"He was wrong for me," she intoned, "to be fair."

Cormac cracked a grin, a hint of that old conceit showing through. "I can usually get a pretty good read on a person. Like fucking Quirrell—someone ought to have asked me what I thought of Quirrell back in second year."

Despite herself, Hermione released a bright laugh. "I can only imagine what you were like as a second year." Though they had both been in Gryffindor, she hadn't paid him any mind until her sixth year. At the thought, she sobered. "I treated you unfairly, Cor. I don't think I ever gave you a proper chance."

"I would have blown it even if you had," he said quietly. His eyes shifted to catch hers, his expression honest and open.

Idly toying with the tassels on the throw blanket perched on the back of his sofa to busy her hands, she mused, "I'm not sure where any of this leaves us now."

"The same as we've been the past eight years," he said with a shrug. "The ball has always been on your side of the pitch."

"What do you mean?" Startled, she blinked, tucking one foot beneath her to turn towards him.

Cormac eyed her for a long moment. "Who gave you my address today?"

Feeling a dull flush rise in her cheeks, she admitted, "George."

"Bastard," he muttered, "do I even want to know how much he told you?"

Biting down on her bottom lip, she whispered, "That depends on how much you wanted me to know."

He only shook his head slowly.

"What if I said," she managed, the words thin and feeble, "that I wish I could fix what happened yesterday." Her voice dropped to a breath as she went on. "I wanted to know I could trust the way I've been feeling about you."

"I can understand that," he said at last with a nod. "And I shouldn't have expected you to understand the friendship between George and I. The last thing he would do is dose me with a love spell."

Hermione swallowed thickly. "I understand that now. And for what it's worth… I think he really appreciates everything you've done for him."

Glancing her way, his lips quirked with a wry smile. "So tell me this—if you could fix what happened yesterday. How would it go instead? Would you have not kissed me?"

Sucking in a breath, she stared at him for a long moment, summoning her nerve. She whispered, "I wouldn't have stopped."

His throat bobbed with a swallow, even as his lips twitched. "We work together."

"We'd have to figure something out," she conceded. It wasn't against Ministry policy, strictly, but it certainly wasn't encouraged within the departments. "I want to give this a try."

"You weren't at work today," he mused, casually taking her hand into his, "so you didn't get the memo, but Collins wants one of us to head the implementation committee for the proposal between the two departments."

A breath caught in her throat. "Just one of us?"

"We'll both still be working on it of course," he went on, his thumb stroking distracting circles on the back of her hand. "But technically, it would be a new position out of the department until the implementation is completed. Six months or so."

Her eyes tightened with consideration. "Collins didn't specify?"

"Nope." Cautious blue eyes caught hers. "It's yours if you want it."

It was a sudden shift in the conversation, and Hermione frowned, unable to process the thought of making such a decision on the spot. "I don't know," she admitted.

"We don't need to let him know right away," Cormac said, "it was only a thought."

Hermione entwined their fingers, tugging him marginally closer. "An interesting thought."

His eyes sparkled. "I thought so."

"Cor," she breathed, glancing away, "something else George said today..."

"Let me guess," Cormac mused, a knowing smile lifting his lips, "he said I never got over you."

She managed a tight nod. "Is that true?"

"'Course it's true. Hermione..." A knit pulled between his brows and he shook his head. "You're the most amazing woman I've ever known."

For a long moment, she could only gape at him, despair mingling with excitement in her chest. She had never treated him with the consideration or the respect he deserved, even as a cocky teenager. The thought of it stung at her eyes, even as he lifted a hand to her face, sweeping his thumb beneath her eye as a tear broke free. Her eyelids fluttered at his touch as he dragged her nearer, his hand sliding back into her curls as his lips grazed hers.

Pitching forward, she seized his collar, kissing him without hesitation or doubt. She was alight from the feel of him as his other hand dragged up her side, shifting her back against the cushions as he kissed her thoroughly, igniting her core with desire.

She slipped a hand beneath his shirt, trailing her fingers along the smooth muscle of his back, tugging his shirt up and over his head; he released her for only long enough to throw his shirt to the floor before latching onto her neck with his lips and tongue.

"Cor," she gasped, heart racing in her chest, blood roaring in her ears.

Cormac hummed against her skin, drawing back after a moment to meet her stare, his eyes cautious as he reached for the hem of her top. Swallowing, she nodded, and as he tugged the material over her head, leaving her in her bra, she breathed, "You haven't shown me the bedroom."

He froze, peering up at her through his long lashes, and asked, "Are you sure, Hermione?"

Palming him through the fabric of his jeans, she managed, "I'm sure."

A breath chased from him as his eyes widened, and he choked out a muted, "Okay, then." Rising to his feet, he hitched her up to coil her legs around his waist, and with a squeeze to her arse, he maneuvered them down the hall, stopping to press her against the wall, lips seeking her own once more.

It was a line they had never crossed as youths, but one she now greatly desired to experience with him, and when Cormac tossed her into his bed and made quick work of her jeans, she felt her core pulsing with desire. Releasing the closure of his jeans, she pushed the fabric from his hips, and the solid warmth of his body was reassuring as it covered her own, his kisses insatiable yet coloured with a reverence that set her skin on fire.

With deft fingers he released the clasp of her bra, taking his time with each of her nipples before laving a trail of kisses down her stomach towards her knickers. His eyes met hers as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband, and chest heaving with a mixture of anticipation and exertion, she nodded, swallowing as he dragged the fabric down one leg and then the other.

Hermione coiled a hand into his hair, dragging his face back to hers, and she slipped her other hand beneath his pants, taking the firm length of him in her palm as he slid two fingers inside of her, setting her into a rhythm that had her gasping his name.

As Cormac toed his pants off the rest of the way, she swept her hands along the hard ridges of his muscle, pulling him close against her once more. And when he positioned himself at her entrance and slid inside, she arched against the bed, biting down on her bottom lip to stifle a cry.

With a soft exhalation of her name, he stilled—and then began to move. Her legs bent against his hips, mouth working against his as he set a teasing, tantalising pace that set her mind spinning, her body coiling and winding as he pushed her towards that precipice.

She buried a hand into his curls, the other dragging down his back as he worshipped her—made love to her. It was the only way she could describe it.

Moisture stung at her eyes at the way his hands grazed her curves, and when he sped up his pace, Hermione matching him for each thrust, she could feel her release approach. And when she fell over the edge with a cry like the breaking of a wave, she breathed his name as an oath.

Several moments later he stilled with a groan and a heavy exhale against her skin. Blue eyes fluttered open to meet hers, and with a lazy grin she carded a hand through his damp hair as he withdrew from within her and laid along her side.

She felt the quiet touch of magic against her skin—his contraceptive spell—as her eyes fluttered, and a smile tugged at her lips as he trailed his fingertips along her cheekbone. Cormac's lips pressed to her temple, her eyes sliding open as she stifled a yawn, and he breathed against her skin, "Sweet dreams," before she drifted to sleep in his arms.

Hermione awoke to a faceful of dark blond curls that weren't her own and a strong arm draped across her bare waist. A sleepy smile spread across her face as she shifted in Cormac's hold, the events of the night before coming back to her in a slow progression.

Cormac blinked awake, his blue eyes lit with a sparkle as he smiled at her. "Tell me it's Saturday."

"It's Saturday." Dragging her fingers through his hair, she allowed her eyes to fall shut once more. She hadn't intended to stay the night—and in fact, hadn't expected things to go so well between them—but she didn't regret it.

"Good." Humming, he wrapped an arm beneath her waist, hauling her into his chest as he met her lips with a kiss. "I'm not letting you out of bed until at least noon."

Against his mouth, Hermione whispered, "That's acceptable," before shifting beneath the sheets and swinging one leg over his hips. His morning erection prodded against her, a soft smile curling his lips, and as she sank down atop him, the glint in his eye set her heart to life.

One Year Later

Hermione glanced up at a soft knock on the door of her office, but before she could respond, the door clicked open behind her back and a smile tugged at her lips as it quietly closed once more.

Setting the stack of parchment she'd been organizing down, she turned her head just as a pair of strong arms laced around her from behind. Cormac's curls grazed the side of her face as he planted a kiss to her cheek, pulling her against him in a solid embrace.

He murmured in her ear, "Hello, my love."

Finding his hand against her midsection, Hermione interlaced their fingers, the diamond on her ring finger sparkling. She still wasn't quite used to the look of it yet.

Quietly, she returned, "Hi Cor."

Resting his chin on her shoulder, he eyed her ring finger for a long moment between their entwined fingers. "It suits you."

Turning her face towards his, Hermione planted a kiss on his lips. "You have excellent taste."

It had been Cormac's Christmas gift to her, in his sitting room decorated with red and green pumpkins. Tears had sprung to her eyes in an instant as she had nodded, unable to speak.

Hermione found it funny, sometimes, how things worked out.

He cracked a grin, releasing her as he leaned back against her desk, folding his arms. "This office is so much bigger than mine."

With a smile, she mused, "I know. Maybe you should have taken the job out of the department."

After she had spent six months leading the implementation committee for their International Floo proposal between the two departments, the Department of Magical International Cooperation had offered her a senior position. Given Cormac had always enjoyed working in Magical Transportation more than she, Hermione had been quick to accept the position.

It meant they weren't strictly co-workers, and in essence, had solved any problems that may have arisen on that end.

Cormac hummed as he idly rearranged a few books on her shelf that she had stowed hastily before a meeting and were out of place. "Leadership suits you better than me. I'm happy where I am." Squinting closer at her books, he stepped back, satisfied, before flashing her a grin. "I still get to see you every day, but no one's breathing down our necks over it."

With a soft smile, she approached him, hands drifting along his hips. "You'd see me most days regardless."

"I know." He gave her a cocky grin. "Soon enough, every day."

Hermione had just been finalising the last details with her flat before preparing to move into Cormac's house; she found herself looking forward to it more by the day—and it helped that he was as keen on keeping a clean space as she was.

"What are we doing tonight?"

"Tonight?" he repeated, brows high. "Absolutely nothing."

A wry grin crept along her lips and she pressed a kiss to his mouth. She suspected they would always not have plans on Valentine's Day, which suited her perfectly fine.

"Of course," Cor went on, "George and Angelina are coming over later. But that's nothing to do with anything else."

"Of course," she echoed with a stern nod. "I'll pick up some snacks on my way over?"

Dropping his head to the side, he mused, "That sounds great." His lips lifted into a secretive smile as he took her hand into his once more and said quietly, "I love you."

Hermione didn't think she would ever tire of the words, though he made a point of telling her daily. She looked forward to hearing them for the rest of their lives together. Pushing up on her toes, she breathed, "I love you more," before pressing a kiss to his mouth.

As he deepened the kiss, pulling her in as her hands entwined around his neck, her eyes snapped open to peer up at the sprig of Valentine's mistletoe hanging above her door, complete with little red hearts, and her lips curled with a smile.

Author's Note: Thank you for joining me in this silly little story. I hope you enjoyed, and a Happy Valentine's/Singles Independence Day!