Valentines
Disclaimer: Characters and basic plot belong to JK Rowling.
Author's Note: I don't know how this reads, but writing it was like the Triwizard Tournament: fighting dragons, plunging into the depths and finding my way through the maze.
(This is not a plea for indulgence. "Knock her off her broom if you have to!")
Thank you to Vera and Kelly for their precious encouragements.
ooo
1.
14th February 1993
Severus
The jars on the shelves rattled dangerously as Severus Snape slammed the door of his office.
Confound the bloody idiot. And the ridiculous dwarfs. And the giggling teen-agers.
Severus Snape had received ten Valentines. Ten. Was it that entertaining to make fun of him?
Four from Slytherin twits, he meant students, who had a crush on him. Well, these things happen. They'll grow out of it.
Three from Ravenclaws who probably found Filius too old and too short.
Three from - this was getting worse - idiotic female colleagues. Rolanda thought she was being funny? Sybill's stank of sickly-sweet cheap perfume. He could brew her some better-smelling stuff himself, if he had time for this kind of nonsense.
And one from the pink idiot himself (a shade of pink Parkinson wouldn't be caught dead in, which is saying a lot).
He was certainly not going to read the cards.
"Evanesco."
Severus could never pronounce this spell without being painfully reminded of its similarity to the name "Evans".
Valentine cards. For Severus, there had only ever been one, would only ever be one, could only ever be one.
Would never be.
Last time he had used this spell, it had been to vanish the snake Potter had spoken to.
The snake Potter had spoken to.
A Parselmouth.
A knock on the door pulled him out of his reflections.
Severus had a number of unfriendly voices at his disposal. He chose the worst.
"Who is it now?"
"It's Gilderoy. Did you...?"
'If you have to bother someone, go and find Aurora!"
Aurora Sinistra, poor lonely wretch.
She would think twice next time before sending him a Valentine.
The sound of retreating footsteps surprised him. Was the man that stupid?
He must be. How irresponsible did one have to be to send card-carrying dwarfs in the middle of Potions lessons, as if the little blunderheads weren't constantly on the verge of getting burnt, poisoned or blown-up without outside help?
Enough of that. There was work to be done.
He gave the Bloody Baron a companionly glare.
"No need to protect the Draught of the Living Death. I am not tempted."
The Baron looked apologetic.
"If I were still alive and had had to suffer this nightmarish day..."
"Her son is in danger," hissed Severus. "All this idiocy is only a reminder of..." he took a deep breath, "the real thing. I need all my wits to catch the lunatic who thinks he is doing Salazar Slytherin's work. You had better help me, instead of standing in front of the potions cupboard like a miserly apothecary."
"Certainly, but ghosts are vulnerable too, as we have seen..."
"Who is doing it?"
Severus' fist knocked the ink bottle off the table.
The Bloody Baron disappeared.
"Reparo," muttered Severus. "Scourgify. Why do I have to do everything around here?"
ooo
Minerva
This was the worst Valentine's Day of her career.
Trust Lockhart not to miss an opportunity to make a fool of himself. Even Albus' most garish purple looked conservative in comparison to that clown's costume.
All day long, Minerva had had to lock her classroom against the assaults of the sorry looking dwarfs. She had actually felt pity for them until they had had the impudence of presenting HER with three Valentine cards, in front of sniggering classes.
She was an old lady, for goodness' sake. Such a thing had not happened to her since Sirius Black's school days.
Ugh, Sirius Black.
The first card, lavishly sprinkled with pink hearts, was from Lockhart. Really. She could easily be his mother. He probably thought he was doing her a great honour. As if she needed to be honoured by the likes of him.
The second one, with a clumsy picture of a Hippogriff, was from Hagrid. "To my favrite teacher and Head of House. Love you, Minerva." Hagrid had always been fond of her, bless him. It was a token of esteem and friendship and she took it as such.
The third one... The third one was embarrassing.
Rolanda.
Rolanda's card represented a beautiful Quidditch player, long black hair flying in the wind. Minerva hoped it wasn't meant to be... All right, she knew it was a most unrealistic representation of herself. When Minerva McGonagall was a Chaser on the Gryffindor team, she never played with her hair loose or without her spectacles.
That woman's phantasms.
That woman. Just look at her. Rolanda. A man's name, to which a final 'a' had hastily been added as if to say, "by the way, gender: female". What could come out of a name like that?
Perhaps that was why Roland sought women.
The fact that Rolanda was a woman, or sort of, was not what bothered Minerva.
It was just that she was not at all... Well, she was Rolanda.
Minerva pointed her wand to the fireplace.
"Incendio."
The Valentines lept into the fire and danced in the flames like tortured witches.
That was better.
With a sigh, she sat down in her straight-backed chair. There were lessons to prepare, essays to mark.
Rising her wand to summon the necessary parchments, she noticed her had was trembling. Slightly, not much. But still.
"Don't be silly, Minerva," she scolded herself.
She needed a cup of tea.
"Pip."
Her voice came out annoyed and unfriendly. Imperious, the word was. That wouldn't do. It wasn't fair to take out her temper on the house-elves.
"Bring me a cup of tea, please."
Albus had taught her to be polite to the house-elves.
Albus.. did he send Valentines? He was childish enough to do so.
Of course, it wouldn't be to her.
"Professor McGonagall's tea, strong , with no sugar, just like Professor McGonagall likes it. Is Professor McGonagall wanting something else?"
It was worth calling the elf, just to be called "Professor McGonagall" three times in a row.
"Beautiful Minerva", indeed...
"No, thank you, Pip."
Actually, she wouldn't mind... Minerva's gaze wandered to the cabinet where she kept her best Scotch whisky, Muggle whisky, a Christmas present fro her sister Diana.
Later, she decided.
Later, when her work would be done, she would get into night clothes and let her hair roll limply down her back, allowing herself to relax in softness at last. She would pour herself a glass of the warming liquid, the only Muggle luxury she allowed herself, and she would look at her day differently.
What did Lockhart know of love? What did anyone know of love?
Albus said love was a power so great it was studied only in the most secret of chambers in the Department of Mysteries.
Love was not a Valentine.
Love was not what people thought.
Love was not...
Drowsiness was making her limbs heavy.
Tomorrow the Great Hall would look normal again: no hideous pink flowers and no confetti in her morning tea.
DA teachers were getting away with far too much. She should have a word with Albus.
ooooo
14th February 1994
Severus
Werewolves are dangerous creatures. They walk around looking human, acting mild and soft, saying "please" and "thank you" and calling you Severus, when they are really blood-thirsty monsters, capable of tearing students to pieces or contaminating them, turning them into monsters such as themselves.
But they don't wear pink on Valentine's Day.
Much less cards this year. Severus was tempted to vanish them without looking at them, but what if that like-me-I'm-a-nice-werewolf friend of Black's had had the cheek... He hadn't. It was just silly Rolanda, creepy Sybill, lonely Aurora and sixth year Electra Calico. He'd get back at her as soon as he got her next homework. A 'D' would do the trick.
"Evanesco."
Severus had more important things to do: brewing Wolfsbane, trying to keep the werewolf away from Potter, trying to convince Dumbledore Lupin had given the boy a home-made map to get to Hogsmeade without permission, give the students as many hints as possible about Lupin's condition, and catch Black. Watch the Dementors suck out whatever Black had for a soul and see his arrogant aristocratic figure collapse to the ground, an empty shell. Some people didn't deserve souls.
The boy would live.
The boy would live to defy him and torment him, as his father had.
But then Severus' work would be done.
ooo
Minerva
It was good to have Remus back. Poor Remus, he had looked so sick and ragged when he had arrived. How had he survived the twelve years since the tragedy?
He was an excellent teacher, which was worth the risk of having a werewolf among the staff. Good DA teachers were hard to come by.
As an added bonus, he had no taste for pink flowers and winged dwarfs. Hopefully, Valentine's Day would be peaceful this year.
Except that another picture of the same black-haired Quidditch player was delivered at breakfast. Minerva was tempted to remind Rolanda that she had never looked like that, but that would have meant acknowledging she had recognised herself.
Minerva pushed away her uneaten toast and left the table.
If she likes my hair so much, why doesn't she grow her own?
Stop, she admonished herself.
Her lips twitched though, as she walked up the stairs to her office. Even if Rolanda let her hair grow, it would still be grey and ratty, not black and lustrous. The woman had a point.
That woman.
She would do better to watch out for Dementors on the pitch.
Could she cast a Patronus?
Minerva didn't want to know what shape that woman's Patronus would take.
"Incendio."
ooooo
14th February 1995
Severus
They wouldn't forget Valentine's Day, for once. That would be too much to ask.
Potter was competing in the Triwizard Tournament and the Dark Lord was returning... Well, they didn't know that, the idiots who sent him Valentines.
The Yule Ball foolishness had clearly not been enough for them.
First, Severus had had to gather his Slytherins and tell them about the ball. Most of them knew about it already. Purebloods are well-versed in wizarding traditions, and Half-Bloods will not be outdone. Slytherins have a sense of decorum. The girls hid behind their hands to giggle. Pureblood boys bowed to Pureblood girls in the best aristocratic fashion and again Half-Bloods succeeded in not being outdone.
Severus didn't envy Minerva and Pomona with their shrieking girls and brutish boys.
Besides, the Slytherins needed some cheering up after Mad-Eye Moody's constant irrational attacks against them. Protecting the Slytherins from Moody, Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and famous Auror had become an exhausting full-time job . Severus had complained to Dumbledore, but it hadn't helped. the Headmaster had merely tut-tutted and said, "That's Alastor, Severus."
Severus should have known. His body still bore the marks of Dumbledore's selective justice. Slytherin bullying was Dark magic to be repressed, Gryffindor bullying was good fun. Moody was only implementing the Headmaster's policy. Not that auror Moody ever took orders from anyone. Like Dumbledore, he was used to doing exactly as he pleased, as he had made a point of showing Severus as soon as possible by searching his office.
Of course, the Headmaster hadn't ordered Moody to search Severus' office. But anything to keep the Slytherins in what he thought was their place was fine with Dumbledore.
The two men just happened to see things in the same way.
That's Dumbledore, Severus.
Severus had fully expected to have to protect his students single-handed, while at the same time trying to keep students from blowing up the dungeons and to get Potter out of the last mess he had landed himself in.
Surprisingly, not only did he get help, it was Gryffindor help.
One couldn't break school rules and abuse students in front of Minerva. Not openly. Her inner instinct for justice would react immediately.
Severus had found an ally. And not only one, for when Minerva detected injustice, the whole staff knew, and soon, all the teachers, from Filius to Sybill, had an eye on Mad-Eye Moody.
Severus just wished Minerva had been around more often during his own student days.
In the middle of all that, there had been the wretched ball.
Potter showing off in that emerald green cloak that brought out the colour of his...
After a few drinks and the strange vision of his colleagues twirling around (what was that Minerva had put on her hat?), Severus had tried to escape the general madness, only to be caught up by Karkaroff in the ridiculously Transfigured grounds (was Minerva responsible for this monstruosity?). Of course, Karkaroff's Mark had reappeared. So had Severus's, and Lucius's, and everyone's. Moody knew it, it was obvious from the knowing glances he kept shooting at Severus and Karkaroff's left sleeves.
The second task was in ten days. Severus had repeatedly mentioned Gillyweed in every single lesson and still none of the dunderheads had caught on. He had placed Gillyweed in evidence and hoped against all odds he would not have to stuff it down the stupid boy's throat himself.
Why was it so damned hard to keep that boy alive?
"Evanesco."
There had been fewer cards this year and Severus couldn't find the heart to blame the silly nitwits. If that was their idea of fun, let them enjoy themselves while still could.
Severus went straight to bed, too exhausted to even think of Draught of the Living Death.
The Bloody Baron gave him the thumbs up.
ooo
Minerva
Two Valentines danced in the flames.
Minerva almost regretted Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank had left. Almost, because it was good to have Hagrid back, even if he didn't send her Valentines any more. What a shame his relationship with Madame Maxime hadn't worked out. But it was to be expected.
Wilhelmina was an interesting woman. Quiet, and direct. No frills and no nonsense. She might have deflected Rolanda's foolishness, though Minerva couldn't imagine anyone sending a Valentine to the gruff Care of Magical Creatures teacher.
No long black hair.
Minerva pinched her lips in time to stop a smirk that would have made her look quite Slytherin.
She knew she was trying very hard not to think of the other card, from Alastor Moody. Receiving a card from Alastor was not, in itself, very surprising. After all, he had courted her on and off since their student days, even though she had repeatedly turned him down. Minerva would have smiled at his persistance (at their age!) if it had not been such a strange card. During all these years, Alastor had always shown her respect. This card was anything but respectful. It was was obscene. Had Alastor's head been injured in one of his innumerable battles? Or was his eye that saw through clothes affecting his self-control? If that was the case, he should certainly not be let loose in classes of teen-agers.
When she had complained to Albus, he had said, "That's Alastor, Minerva."
Was it really the Alastor she knew?
She had been happy to escape his clutches at the Yule ball. Etiquette demanded that she dance at least once with each male teacher. Once had been more than enough.
To tell the truth, not all teachers had taken advantage of this prerogative. Hagrid was busy with Madame Maxime, Filius had spent the evening perched on a pile of cushions, pretexting he was afraid of being trampled, and Severus had disappeared. Imagine Severus swishing his black cloak on the dance floor... Albus was the best dancer of all. Rolanda wasn't around. Minerva wondered if she was with Wilhelmina. Imagine those two at a ball. Oh well, it was none of her business.
Why was she even thinking of that irksome ball anyway? Harry Potter was competing in the Triwizard Tournament, for goodness' sake. He had fought a dragon. Wasn't that boy an incredible flyer? Even better than his father. Such an asset to Gryffindor. And didn't he look gorgeous at the ball?
There she was, thinking of the stupid ball again, when the second task was in ten days. Potter's flying skills wouldn't help him in the lake. Thankfully, Alastor kept growling about helping him. There was some good in the man, after all. She just wondered why he had asked her about Gillyweed in a loud voice when there was only a house-elf around to hear.
Better he talk about Gillyweed... It was annoying, one had to be very careful to have presentable underwear when he was around. Not that Minerva Mcgonagall ever wore unpresentable underwear. Or that she ever presented it, for that matter.
Right. Well. Let's hope Potter gets the message.
"Pip."
How could she bring the subject of Gillyweed into her request for a cup of tea?
"Yes, Professor McGonagall? Is Professor McGonagall wanting a cup of tea?"
So much, so much better than (she shuddered) "sexy Minerva".