Snape's Valentine

Over at the teacher's table, Snape's brow creased into a frown that would send all but the hardiest Death Eaters running for cover. His was by no means the only sullen expression issuing from the teachers table that breakfast, but it was by far the most effective. Children were idiotic enough without outside stimulation, and he had hoped rather than thought Gilderoy Lockhart would have had the sense not to provide that.

One of the few and underrated joys of being a cynic was being able to say, "I told you so."

From the corner of his eye he could see that Weasley girl approaching one of the dwarfs timidly, every now and again shooting an apprehensive look to make sure Potter was still basking in the blind worshipfulness of his minions, er, loyal housemates. Stupendous. He could sleep easier in bed that night knowing that at least one member of that freckle-infested family would give inbreeding a miss. Glowering magnificently at no-one yet somehow everyone in particular, he swept his cloak over his shoulder and strode out of the room.

Miss Clearwater had better be flushed because she had put too much chilli sauce on her rice.

* * * * *

Fourth period was when he had his Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff fifth years. Being the two most industrious houses in the school and with the threat of OWLs pushing their noses closer still to the grindstone, they were usually his easiest class, but Miss Clearwater's reaction at lunch time was making him feel distinctly uneasy. He held his breath when she approached his desk.

"Um, Professor, sir," she began awkwardly, "I was sick last period, so this is the essay on Moonstones that was due yesterday. I hope this doesn't inconvenience you in any way." Her face now a Weasley shade, she turned and walked back to her desk quickly.

He was so relieved that he neglected to remove points for tardiness.

* * * * *

That evening he sat in his armchair with a glass of port at his elbow, congratulating himself for successfully avoiding unwanted female attention for the thirty-third Valentine of his life. A knock came at the door. A lesser man would have jumped and sent the precious port tumbling to the floor, but Snape was always poised, always ready. He rose and opened the door.

A dwarf stood outside. It was surprisingly quick for such a solidly-built beast, as he found when it interpreted his attempt to slam the door in its face, instead gruffly thrusting a letter into his hand and sauntering off.

Left alone, Snape saw that the envelope was red in colour and took an uncharacteristically hasty swallow of his port. With even more uncharacteristically trembling hands he tore the envelope apart and opened the card inside. His face sunk in a mixture of relief and scorn.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, Mother," he sighed, scrunching up the card and tossing it into the fire.

The End