On February the Twelfth

Bring your lover and yourself

Romance to be had by all

At Hogwarts' annual Valentines Ball!

Hermione glowered at the loud, pink sign that had unfurled over the Great Hall.

"That's a horrible rhyme," Hermione muttered over her chicken and mash. "Twelfth and yourself don't rhyme. Beyond which, do we really want to encourage students to have lovers?"

"Oh, stop being so down, Hermione," Ginny said. "I think it'll be wonderful. We'll go together - it'll be great, you'll see. Harry will take me, and Ron will take you, and maybe we can even share a horse and carriage. Harry and Ron can afford it now, since they have jobs. It'll be wonderful."

Hermione only grunted in response. She and Ron hadn't been particularly romantic lately. In fact, they'd had a rather rocky Christmas. After she'd opened her gift, Ron admitted he'd simply re-gifted a set of nice pens he'd received from a charity tombola.

It had not gone over well, especially since she'd spent days looking for the vintage Quidditch robe she'd given him for Christmas.

The sound of a haughty, dismissive voice cut through her self-pitying thoughts.

"Granger!"

Hermione sighed and tried to ignore Malfoy's voice.

"Granger!"

Her eyes flicked his way for a half-second. He was standing on his chair at the Slytherin table, looking her way with a contemptuous smile plastered across his slim face. La dee daa, I can't hear you, Malfoy, she thought as she poked at her salad.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you, M... Miss Granger," he called.

She tried to continue ignoring him, but it was impossible with him just standing on the bench, staring at her.

"Malfoy. What. Do. You. Want."

She finally looked his way.

Honestly, she didn't understand him. She and Malfoy had been almost amicable with one another lately - at least in private - but in public, he still behaved like a boorish, childish, arrogant prat.

"Would you be my date for the Valentine's Ball, Miss Granger?" He laced his voice with saccharine sweetness and shot her an utterly fake smile.

A group of Slytherins sent hisses and catcalls her way.

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass."

A group of Gryffindors muttered insults toward the Slytherin table.

"Well, don't ever say I'm not capable of charity." Malfoy snorted; his friends gave him high-fives.

"Ignore him," Ginny hissed.

"I don't intend to give that piece of rubbish one second of thought. Even that's more than he's worth," she snapped back at Ginny, making sure Malfoy heard every word.

"What did you say, Granger? What did you just say?" he squawked.

But she had already stood up, leaving her full plate of food, and stalked out of the Great Hall.

Brewing potions always calmed Hermione down. Focusing on methodically chopping, crushing, and stirring took her mind off rampant emotions. As one of the senior seventh-years, she had access to the Potions mixing room as part of her final year thesis, and she found herself ducking into the empty laboratory whenever she needed a moment's peace.

The only problem was that several of the other seventh years also had access to the lab.

Including one Draco Malfoy, who had now lowered the wards to the lab and entered it, not twenty minutes after Hermione.

"Hello, Granger," he said. "What are you up to?"

She ignored him. Lately, they had come to what she believed was an uneasy truce; they would talk about politics, or potions theory, or school gossip, while they drudged away at their potions projects after-hours.

Obviously, given his behaviour in the Great Hall, she'd been wrong. He was still the same old arsehole as before, especially if given an audience.

"Brewing a potion," she replied tartly. "We are, if you'll notice, in a potions mixing room."

"Hmph, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," he replied. "Fight with the Ginger Weasel?"

To hell with this, she thought, I'm not spending the next hour listening to him goad me while I try to work.

She lifted her wand, shot a cleaning spell at the cauldron, and snatched up her book bag. Without replying, she walked toward the door.

"Are you all right?" Malfoy asked.

She glared his way. "Thank you for the concern, Malfoy, but I really don't need your charity."

"Don't tell me you're annoyed at what happened over supper, Granger. It's just a bit of a lark! Have a sense of humour."

She rolled her eyes. "Good-night, Malfoy."

"Hey, wait," he called out.

She ignored him and headed straight for her bedroom. There was no way she'd give Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing her upset.

Hermione lay on her bed, reading a dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice and trying steadfastly to remove any thoughts of Ron or Malfoy from her mind. She could hear raised voices from the Gryffindor common room, but ignored that too - all she wanted right now was to be left alone.

The door to the girls' dormitory swung open. Ginny stepped in, her expression a mix of distaste and confusion.

"Hey, Hermione."

"Ginny, if it's about the Astronomy assignment, can it wait until later? I've had a horrible day."

"Erm... it's not." Ginny sat on the edge of Hermione's bed. "Something odd just happened..." her voice trailed off, and she chewed her lip with obvious puzzlement.

"Ginny, what is it?"

"Well... Draco Malfoy just came to the portrait hole."

"Our portrait hole?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Yes." Ginny's brow furrowed. "I told you it was odd."

"Let me guess. He came to us to do a little end-of-day harassing?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "He's so aggravating."

"Actually... it was really strange. He asked if you'd come back to your room, and told me to keep an eye on you." Ginny's puzzled expression melted into a mischievous smile. "I told him, 'Malfoy, as long as you're not around, Hermione will be just fantastic.' The prat skulked off after that."

Ginny giggled and Hermione couldn't help but smile with her. But there was something inexplicable and worrying about Malfoy, of all people, making a trip to the Gryffindor portrait hole to ask after her. Slytherins stayed in their dungeon. Gryffindors stayed in their tower. They just didn't go visiting one another.

If she'd piqued his interest, it could only mean trouble.

The puzzle of Malfoy at Gryffindor Tower kept her awake long after the other girls fell asleep.

Hermione couldn't help but pay more attention to Malfoy the next day. She kept her head down over her breakfast and watched him through her curtain of hair, hoping to spot some hint of what he was plotting.

Malfoy kept quiet at breakfast; he didn't even look at her when they were assigned as each others' partners in Charms; and over lunch, his only contact with her was a muttered excuse me when he accidentally brushed past her on the way out.

She had a free period in the afternoon, when most of her housemates had Divination, and she took the opportunity for a walk. Alone.

Who, of course, did she discover on the Quidditch pitch but her towheaded thorn-in-the-side?

She knew the exact moment when Malfoy spotted her because he stopped flying in languid, low circles. After a moment spent hovering, he began to race around the pitch, forming showy figure-eights and loops in the air.

For a Slytherin, his showboating had no subtlety whatsoever, and she had no desire to feed his ego. She kept walking toward the gate, steadfastly ignoring him.

Of course, Malfoy just couldn't allow himself to be ignored.

She could hear him following her on the broom. And, when she refused to turn around and look at him, he flew ahead, so she could directly see him, and soared into the sky. Again, she ignored him.

He dove. Fast, hard, and directly for where she was standing.

She knew, on some logical level, that he wouldn't hit her; the Malfoy of last year might have, but the Malfoy that had emerged from defeat was a more pragmatic, pensive man, despite what he let on.

But it was a full-size Firebolt, carrying a six-foot-tall wizard, throttling toward her at full speed. She reacted instinctively, as any sensible person would've. Her hands flew protectively to her face. Her eyes squeezed shut. A frightened yelp escaped her throat.

She felt the swoosh of air as he swooped past her, and then the warmth of a nearby body. Then silence. Her heart raced; she couldn't quite bring herself to uncover her eyes.

"Granger, it's all right." She felt his hands curl around her wrists, tugging them from her face.

She leapt back as if burned. "What's wrong with you?"

He seemed to be searching for words, and despite her anger, she could see he regretted the trick. Pink had suffused his cheeks, and he scuffed his boot against the grass.

"And you have the nerve to come to Gryffindor Tower and ask if I'm all right?"

He looked up at her. His brow furrowed; she recognized it as the same nervous expression he got before a Quidditch game. "Granger, look..."

The sound of raucous laughter interrupted them. Divination, it appeared, had gotten out early, as the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team were fast approaching. Malfoy jumped back, his eyes darting between his friends and Hermione.

"Oi, Princess," Zabini shouted from across the pitch, "he's not actually interested in you. He don't go for your type. Thought you'd have figured that out after eight-odd years."

Zabini and Goyle pounded fists and laughed loudly. Malfoy backed slowly away from Hermione and snatched up his broom from the ground.

"I can't understand why you surround yourself with the most witless excuses for wizards in this whole school," she told him quietly, watching his friends hawk wads of spit onto the ground and make farting noises in Hermione's direction. "I'm going to leave now. Maybe you can try to run your broom into someone expendable... I'm thinking Goyle, if only because he'll cushion your blow."

Malfoy let out a snort.

"You were supposed to take offence to that," she muttered.

He shrugged, and only she could see the quirked half-smile on his thin lips. She turned away from him and began to walk back to the castle.

"Eh, Love, don't you want to stay and watch some real men in action?" Zabini shouted.

She turned back and looked at each slowly, giving each the full force of her contemptuous sneer. "I would, but I'm afraid I don't see any."

Zabini took a step forward, and his hand moved to his wand pocket. "What you need, Granger, is a proper man to put you back in your place. You think you're something special because you're Potter's pal, but you're still just a mangy, filthy Mud-"

"Zabini!" Malfoy's voice cut through diatribe. "On the pitch. Now."

Hermione didn't turn back, but she could hear the other boys grumbling at Malfoy. Despite his inexplicably mercurial temperament, she reminded herself to thank Malfoy later for reining them in.

AN: This story's done, I just don't want to post one gigantic mega-chapter. Better to release it in easy-to-read portions, right?