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It takes Hermione’s brain a second to recover from the visual punch that greets her upon opening Luna’s front door.
But…wow. She’s never seen so much pink nor so many heart-motifs in her entire life combined.
The hostess in question drifts over a moment later, ensconced in a mini dress that appears to be made entirely of pastel pink candyfloss. It’s scented to match.
“Hi Hermione,” Luna demurs. “You look very festive.”
Considering she’s still in the red jumper she pulled on while half-asleep that morning — the color a happy coincidence for the day — Hermione takes the compliment with the pinch of sugar she knows Luna intended. “Oh, thank you. Your flat looks amazing. It’s so…”
The only word in her overworked, currently overstimulated head is festive.
Luckily, Pansy saves her with a loud, “About time, Granger!” and so Hermione shoots Luna a grateful smile and sidesteps.
Pansy is waiting for her with one hand planted elegantly on her hip and the other clutching a lowball of something fluorescent magenta. Hermione eyes it suspiciously, accepting the kiss Pansy delivers to the air beside her cheek.
“Are you straight from work?”
Hermione sighs from the pit of her soul, and when she inhales, her nose fills with whatever Pansy has dabbed at her pulsepoint. It’s spicy and masculine but underscored by something warm and earthy.
Out of nowhere, her stomach fills with butterflies. There’s a sense-memory tied to it, but for the life of her, Hermione can’t divine what it is.
It takes her a moment to refocus on the fact she’s meant to be answering.
“Long day,” she confirms, then points to the drink. “Dare I?”
Pansy proffers it and Hermione takes a tentative sip. It’s half as sweet as it looks but twice as strong. She passes it back with a small grimace and Pansy snorts.
“There’s lots else on offer. You know how Lu gets.”
Hermione certainly does. There’s no themed event that Luna won’t throw the entirety of her passion into, and Valentine’s Day has always been one of her favorites.
“I’m just glad there aren’t any cupids this year,” Hermione says wryly, then casts a cursory glance around just to make sure. “They tried to get me to leave with Justin last year.”
“Poor thing.” Pansy dissolves her smile with a sip, then tilts her head to the side. “Off you go. Get something to unwind; take your hair down.”
As Pansy slips off toward her candyfloss girlfriend, Hermione touches her barrette self-consciously. A whispered charm has the plain tortoiseshell transfiguring into what she hopes is a passable red bow shape, and then she ventures across the lounge to the sideboard, exchanging waves and greetings as she goes.
The sideboard is heavily laden with sweets and savories, every vessel pink, white, or red. A dish of conversation hearts snags her attention first. They’re not her favorite to actually eat, but she can’t help but be drawn to the words.
She picks one at random then looks to see what she’s gotten. Pale blue with A-OK stamped in red. She snorts dryly. Yep, that about sums her up.
The air swells with the butterfly-inducing scent again but it’s not Pansy who steps into her periphery.
Even without looking, she knows it’s him just by the way the air feels close, as if it doesn’t want to part for him so instead bunches together, wanting to stay pressed up against him.
(She elects not to unpack the source of such a personification.)
When he extends his hand, palm up, her intuition is confirmed.
“Want a random one or one personally selected?” she asks, feigning great interest in the hearts and none whatsoever in him.
Evidently unperturbed by her lack of greeting, Draco only makes a thoughtful sound. “They all say nice things, don’t they?”
She hums an affirmative.
“Then I want you to select one specifically for me.”
That finally earns him a look and, when he’s smirking as she’d anticipated, an eyeroll. It only makes his smile broaden.
She can’t help but smile back, but quickly hides it by sifting through the bowl with an index finger, searching for something appropriate to give him.
LOVE U. Merlin, no.
TAKE ME. Good lord.
HUG ME. She certainly wouldn’t be opposed but…
Finally, a pale yellow heart turns over with CUTIE PIE printed in pink. Acceptable.
She plucks it up and sets it on his palm. “There you are.”
He peers down at it then clicks his tongue appreciatively. “Aw.”
“All the others would be lies,” she says sweetly, turning to prop her hip against the table.
It’s unfair that a pale pink shirt would look so bloody excellent on him, but alas, it does.
He feigns devastation, hand on his chest, but then pops cutie pie in his mouth and leans in close. Her breath hitches, and then she inhales greedily as he reaches past her to begin rooting through the dish.
“Lord, why does everyone smell so good?” she laments unthinkingly. Perfumery has never been her forte but evidently she’s the outlier at the party.
Draco chuckles, finally plucking up a heart and straightening out of her space. “Just me, love.”
Heat surges to her cheeks at the realization that she’s just blatantly complimented him. And not on his choice of shirt, or taste in films, or ability to order the world’s worst sandwich from the Ministry canteen—his scent. It’s so intimate.
She scoffs to cover her sudden self-consciousness. “You wish. Pansy smells incredible tonight, too.”
Draco holds out the heart to her. “Does she?”
“Absolutely mouth-watering,” she confirms, taking the sweet from him, then doubles-down. “If she were my type, I’d be sheep-dogging her toward a bedroom already.”
His brows go up, amusement mixed with incredulity. “Is that so? In that case, I’ll have to ask her what she’s wearing.”
In her palm: CRAZY 4 U.
“…Yes. Do that,” she mumbles, heart stalling.
When she looks up, Draco is watching her. The edge of his mouth curls upward.
“Picked it especially for you,” he says in a conspiratorial undertone, then winks and walks away.
Baffled, she stares after him, watching as he slings an arm around Blaise’s broad shoulders as if he’s not just dropped a bomb on her.
Pansy catches her eye, giving her a quizzical look, and another bomb detonates. Oh. The sense-memory she’d experienced is Draco.
Even the suggestion of him gives her butterflies.
Hermione flicks her gaze from Pansy to him, catching the moment he glances back to look at her. For a moment, neither move. And then he swallows and shoots her a slanting grin below glinting grey.
It takes her a second to realize the easy confidence is an act. That he’s nervous. Because he meant it.
It gives her the burst of courage she needs.
As if the dish is a co-conspirator in her sudden brazenness, it only takes a second to locate the two little words she wants. Two seconds to cross the room to him.
He pauses mid-conversation, expression almost wary.
“Here,” she says, holding out the tiny pink risk. “I found another one especially for you.”
A beat, and then he holds out his hand. She drops it into his palm and waits with her heart in her throat as he turns it over. His lips press together, controlling what she sees a second later is a pleased grin.
“Yeah?” he confirms, meeting her eye.
She wets her lips, something he drops his gaze to watch, then nods. “Yes.”
Draco lets his smile free for half a second, and then he slips the heart into his shirt pocket in order to step into her space and cup her jaw with both hands, tilting her face up to his.
“I’ll do it right here,” he says, a warning and an offer all wrapped up together. “In front of everyone.”
“Go on then,” she agrees, eyes locked on his. The warm, familiar scent of him is in her lungs, deep and lovely.
His expression softens, attention dipping to her mouth. He wets his lips then meets her gaze.
“I really am,” he murmurs, “crazy for you.”
She lifts a hand to rest over his heart — both the one beating quick and strong, and the smaller pink-colored confession. A reminder, and a prompt.
KISS ME.
And, with a happy little hum, he does.