Title: My Broody Valentine
Rating: G
Word Count:
Written For:
All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of JK Rowling. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: This drabble was written as their ship teaser for February.


She sat in the Ministry's cafeteria, eating a sandwich and pretending to read a book. In actuality, she was calculating the number of ways to kill some—if not all—of her oh-Merlin-look-what-my-boyfriend-got-me-for-Valentine's-Day co-workers. She hated them with a passion that was reserved just for the holiday.

It wasn't, as her friends had pointed out, because she'd been single for years. It wasn't because of how commercial the whole day was and the only people who were ever truly happy on Valentine's Day were masochists and florists. It was because it had a knack for reminding people of their broken hearts and lonely nights, and she'd never forgive Valentine's Day for that.

She jumped in her seat at the sound of a voice clearing.

Expecting to see her best friend's messy hair and green eyes, she couldn't hide her confusion at the sight of reserved greys before her. The civility she usually maintained when they were paired together on projects disappeared in a blurted question: "What do you want?"

"To sit." Then he did. Next to her.

She closed her book, folded her arms, and observed him. "Obviously, you're not here to eat."

"No. I'm here because it's Valentine's Day and—"

"Six hundred and thirty-seven."

A blond brow rose. "Excuse me?"

"That's how many ways I can kill someone without my wand. I've spent the last fifteen minutes calculating it with the intent to try a few on the people who start talking about Valentine's Day." She stared pointedly at him.

Her words would've left anyone else uncomfortable, but they made him smirk. "That sounds a bit bitter."

"I am not bitter," she replied indignantly.

His smirk morphed into a small smile. "Your words say otherwise."

"They do not!"

"Yes, they do. I've worked with you for three years now. I can hear the self-righteous, 'Valentine's Day is only in existence to remind people of what they don't have' in your voice."

Unfortunately, he was correct. Not that she would ever admit such a thing. She mindlessly tucked a few strands of her bushy hair that escaped her bun and asked. "What do you want?"

"A chance to show you that Valentine's Day isn't always so horrible."

First she looked bemused, then dubious. "How might you do that?"

"I was thinking dinner and one of those enema shows Muggles seem to adore."

She smiled for the first time all day. "You mean the cinema?"

"Right. That."

"Tonight? With me? But I'm a—"

"Let's not lament on our Hogwarts days. We've both grown up and changed since then."

"I'm sure I have, but—"

"Look, nothing changes one's mind about priorities and prejudices like nearly being burnt to a crisp by Fiendfyre."

She stared at him hard for several moments, and then her eyes softened. "You're actually serious?"

"Yes," he leaned closer. "So will you accept my invitation despite our history and your dislike for the holiday?"

The next word came out easier than she'd expected: "Yes."