Disclaimer: Ms Rowling owns it all, I just borrow without meaning any harm.
Response to the Getting to Know You Challenge on WIKTT. Vignette 3: Valentines. One of our two like-birds sends a valentine and the other feels guilty because they forgot. Required item: a handkerchief. Required phrase: "A black rose seems a trifle incongruous, doesn't it?"
Snow on Our Skin
By Claudia
Three
Valentines
Hermione had never been a fan of Valentine's day, and still wasn't, and would probably never be. If she wanted to tell her sweetheart that she loved him, and friends what they meant to her, she would do it when she pleased, not because a commercial holiday dictated she do so in the middle of February. It hadn't helped, of course, that for seven years she had had to endure the day in all its red and pink glory in a castle filled to the brim with raging hormones. Not that she was bitter because she had never received many valentines. Not that she didn't have any feelings; she just wished to express them when she deemed it fit. Most of all, she wished to express those feelings by personal tokens and gifts, not by chocolates or heart-shaped cards everyone got. She found that a person special to her deserved a special appreciation. And she wished to be treated just the same way by that special person. Not that there was anybody special at the moment.
Of course, there were a couple of valentines in her mail that day, the usual brief notes from Dean and Neville, which made her smile despite herself, and a card from Luna who had squeezed a tongue-in-cheek, no doubt made-up conspiracy theory into her card. She knew what Hermione thought of Valentine's day, and she had a hard time recovering from her friend's hilarious story.
Hermione put them up on the counter that separated the kitchen-area from the dining-area, and finished her tea. She had nothing special planned for the day. Today was Saturday, and she had decided not to do any work at the Ministry undisturbed, but to stay in and read for pleasure or go out and see a film or visit a museum. Or maybe not go to the cinema - too many couples were likely to have just the same idea, and it didn't sound appealing to her to have more snogging people surround her in the cinema than usual.
Or maybe, their hormones were still in hibernation, for it had snowed heavily and constantly since the eve of the previous day, and still grey clouds were pouring forth their wealth. Hermione smiled. This kind of weather made her remember the reunion fondly. Severus and her had spent most of the time snugly in his quarters, discussing things and sharing meals, surrounded by books and parchments. It had been a wonderful, relaxing couple of days, and she was very sad upon leaving in January, because it meant-
Well, it did not mean that she was in love with him. That she certainly wasn't. But he was a great best friend, because he was more than that - a kindred soul. And she hated the thought of having to resort to written conversation with him now. His latest letter was on her desk, sitting there for her to be answered. She went to her study, which would have made a great studio for an artist like Dean - but he already had found the studio of his dreams. Snow was covering the conservatory part of it, dimming the light in a bluish fashion. Crookshanks lay curled up in her chair, as if in guard of the precious letter.
Hermione put on some Muggle music. The DVD player was one of the few electrical gadgets she kept, next to a TV set - the better to indulge in her passion for the pictures. Then she sat in her chair, scooping up Crookshanks and settling him in her lap. She picked up the letter and read through it once again. Severus had brought up some interesting and delicate points that needed careful consideration, a little research even, and she always made it a point to answer him diligently.
Just then, an owl settled on the perch she had installed for just that purpose outside her window. Hermione caught its movements from the corner of her eye, and rose instantly to open the window for the animal. Crookshanks, miffed at the hectic of the day, settled on the rug in front of the fireplace in the living room.
The owl, freezing, but relieved by a heart-warming owl treat, hopped in to deliver her burden. It settled on a perch to wait for her reply. "Poor thing, sending you in this kind of weather," Hermione muttered, providing her with warm water. Then she untied the longish parcel and card from its leg. As soon as the ribbon was untied, the shrinking spell was broken, and the parcel enlarged to itself to its original size in Hermione's hands.
Curious who would send her an obvious valentine such as this, she put it on the desk and opened it. Carefully wrapped in tissue paper, there lay a single, long-stemmed black rose.
Hermione did not know whether she should laugh or succumb to butterflies. The card was blank except for a signature.
Severus' signature.
She knew at once that it was forged.
Severus had never before sent her a valentine, and despite their bonding at the beginning of this year, a black rose was entirely unwarranted.
Or had she been blind? Had there been obvious displays of his intentions towards her and she hadn't noticed them?
She went straight to her fireplace, disturbing Crookshanks yet again as she reached for the tin that held her Floo powder. But, alas, she hadn't yet rekindled the fire. She grabbed the poker to search for any dying embers in the ashes, but the fire had completely exhausted itself. Sighing, she cleaned the cold hearth and prepared a new fire with two flicks of her wand. Finally, she threw the Floo powder into the flames which turned into a sparkling green.
"Severus Snape," she commanded.
"At your service," came the rather prompt reply.
"I'm not interrupting something, am I?" she asked as she looked into his living room. Flames were licking around her ears and sparks got seemingly tangled in her hair. She looks lovely, Severus thought.
"Not at all. I'd ask you to step through the fire and join me for a cup of tea," he suggested, apparently delighted at her unexpected call. Or was she reading too much into this, and he was just being as civil as he used to be before-
Now, Granger, she scolded herself. The signature is forged.
"Why don't you join me? I've got fresh croissants," she offered. She didn't have any - yet. And she felt horrible for tempting him thus.
"Very well," came the prompt reply.
She was surprised. "Oh, great." She hadn't expected this at all.
When he had dusted off his frock coat - he must have put it on before taking the Floo to her, for he had answered her call in shirt sleeves. The moment of his arrival felt awkward to Hermione. There was the urge to kiss him amicably on the cheek, but she was afraid and uncertain enough and desisted in mid-movement.
"Are you all right?" Severus asked her.
Wordless, she gestured for her study where he would find the box with the rose and offending card, while she herself retreated to the kitchen to at least get him a mug of tea. She returned with it in hand to his side in her study.
Accepting the steaming mug, Severus said: "A black rose seems a trifle incongruous, doesn't it?"
Hermione nodded, gesturing at the card. Severus picked it up, looked at it and flipped it on the desk with a snort. "You don't really believe I sent you this?" he asked, a bit too snarky for Hermione's taste, but she resolved not to take it personal.
"Never," she said, seeing the humour in it, now that her confusion had melted off her. She smiled.
"I don't know what to tell Albus anymore," Severus said, sitting down in Hermione's chair. Suddenly, he seemed very tired, and older than he was. Why would this demand so much of him?
"Are you all right, Severus?" Hermione, serious again, asked.
He nodded. "Albus won't accept that we're not in love with each other." He looked at her hard. "We aren't, are we?"
"We aren't," Hermione replied sincerely, relieved that that was cleared up between them. It was amazing what you could make of things when looked from a different angle. But being in love with Snape? No. Never. He was older than her father. And he certainly had someone waiting for him, wanting him to spend the day with him, instead of eating absent croissants with her.
"Good."
Hermione busied herself by wrapping the offending rose up again, and putting a shrinking spell on it. Severus dipped a quill into the inkwell and wrote something on the card. He held it out for Hermione to see, and in his own penmanship he had added "I don't think so, Albus." The ink glistened in the pale wintry light. They sent the owl off again, together with the valentine.
"I'm sorry I don't have any croissants for you - yet, but I can and get some if-"
"I'll get them," Severus interrupted her, "and they're my valentine for the best friend I have."
Hermione blushed. He had never told her about his feelings regarding their friendship before, and it came quite unexpected now. Eventually, she managed a smile.
A quarter of an hour later, Severus returned with the promised croissants. Surprisingly enough, they were still warm, whereas he ran his handkerchief across his snowflake-mottled brow. "You should have put an insulation spell on yourself, too," Hermione said, passing him a new mug of hot tea.
This 14 February was not so bad after all, Hermione thought, as they dismissed Albus' scheming and began to discuss the topics Severus had brought up in his latest letter.
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Response to the Getting to Know You Challenge on WIKTT. Vignette 3: Valentines. One of our two like-birds sends a valentine and the other feels guilty because they forgot. Required item: a handkerchief. Required phrase: "A black rose seems a trifle incongruous, doesn't it?"
Snow on Our Skin
By Claudia
Three
Valentines
Hermione had never been a fan of Valentine's day, and still wasn't, and would probably never be. If she wanted to tell her sweetheart that she loved him, and friends what they meant to her, she would do it when she pleased, not because a commercial holiday dictated she do so in the middle of February. It hadn't helped, of course, that for seven years she had had to endure the day in all its red and pink glory in a castle filled to the brim with raging hormones. Not that she was bitter because she had never received many valentines. Not that she didn't have any feelings; she just wished to express them when she deemed it fit. Most of all, she wished to express those feelings by personal tokens and gifts, not by chocolates or heart-shaped cards everyone got. She found that a person special to her deserved a special appreciation. And she wished to be treated just the same way by that special person. Not that there was anybody special at the moment.
Of course, there were a couple of valentines in her mail that day, the usual brief notes from Dean and Neville, which made her smile despite herself, and a card from Luna who had squeezed a tongue-in-cheek, no doubt made-up conspiracy theory into her card. She knew what Hermione thought of Valentine's day, and she had a hard time recovering from her friend's hilarious story.
Hermione put them up on the counter that separated the kitchen-area from the dining-area, and finished her tea. She had nothing special planned for the day. Today was Saturday, and she had decided not to do any work at the Ministry undisturbed, but to stay in and read for pleasure or go out and see a film or visit a museum. Or maybe not go to the cinema - too many couples were likely to have just the same idea, and it didn't sound appealing to her to have more snogging people surround her in the cinema than usual.
Or maybe, their hormones were still in hibernation, for it had snowed heavily and constantly since the eve of the previous day, and still grey clouds were pouring forth their wealth. Hermione smiled. This kind of weather made her remember the reunion fondly. Severus and her had spent most of the time snugly in his quarters, discussing things and sharing meals, surrounded by books and parchments. It had been a wonderful, relaxing couple of days, and she was very sad upon leaving in January, because it meant-
Well, it did not mean that she was in love with him. That she certainly wasn't. But he was a great best friend, because he was more than that - a kindred soul. And she hated the thought of having to resort to written conversation with him now. His latest letter was on her desk, sitting there for her to be answered. She went to her study, which would have made a great studio for an artist like Dean - but he already had found the studio of his dreams. Snow was covering the conservatory part of it, dimming the light in a bluish fashion. Crookshanks lay curled up in her chair, as if in guard of the precious letter.
Hermione put on some Muggle music. The DVD player was one of the few electrical gadgets she kept, next to a TV set - the better to indulge in her passion for the pictures. Then she sat in her chair, scooping up Crookshanks and settling him in her lap. She picked up the letter and read through it once again. Severus had brought up some interesting and delicate points that needed careful consideration, a little research even, and she always made it a point to answer him diligently.
Just then, an owl settled on the perch she had installed for just that purpose outside her window. Hermione caught its movements from the corner of her eye, and rose instantly to open the window for the animal. Crookshanks, miffed at the hectic of the day, settled on the rug in front of the fireplace in the living room.
The owl, freezing, but relieved by a heart-warming owl treat, hopped in to deliver her burden. It settled on a perch to wait for her reply. "Poor thing, sending you in this kind of weather," Hermione muttered, providing her with warm water. Then she untied the longish parcel and card from its leg. As soon as the ribbon was untied, the shrinking spell was broken, and the parcel enlarged to itself to its original size in Hermione's hands.
Curious who would send her an obvious valentine such as this, she put it on the desk and opened it. Carefully wrapped in tissue paper, there lay a single, long-stemmed black rose.
Hermione did not know whether she should laugh or succumb to butterflies. The card was blank except for a signature.
Severus' signature.
She knew at once that it was forged.
Severus had never before sent her a valentine, and despite their bonding at the beginning of this year, a black rose was entirely unwarranted.
Or had she been blind? Had there been obvious displays of his intentions towards her and she hadn't noticed them?
She went straight to her fireplace, disturbing Crookshanks yet again as she reached for the tin that held her Floo powder. But, alas, she hadn't yet rekindled the fire. She grabbed the poker to search for any dying embers in the ashes, but the fire had completely exhausted itself. Sighing, she cleaned the cold hearth and prepared a new fire with two flicks of her wand. Finally, she threw the Floo powder into the flames which turned into a sparkling green.
"Severus Snape," she commanded.
"At your service," came the rather prompt reply.
"I'm not interrupting something, am I?" she asked as she looked into his living room. Flames were licking around her ears and sparks got seemingly tangled in her hair. She looks lovely, Severus thought.
"Not at all. I'd ask you to step through the fire and join me for a cup of tea," he suggested, apparently delighted at her unexpected call. Or was she reading too much into this, and he was just being as civil as he used to be before-
Now, Granger, she scolded herself. The signature is forged.
"Why don't you join me? I've got fresh croissants," she offered. She didn't have any - yet. And she felt horrible for tempting him thus.
"Very well," came the prompt reply.
She was surprised. "Oh, great." She hadn't expected this at all.
When he had dusted off his frock coat - he must have put it on before taking the Floo to her, for he had answered her call in shirt sleeves. The moment of his arrival felt awkward to Hermione. There was the urge to kiss him amicably on the cheek, but she was afraid and uncertain enough and desisted in mid-movement.
"Are you all right?" Severus asked her.
Wordless, she gestured for her study where he would find the box with the rose and offending card, while she herself retreated to the kitchen to at least get him a mug of tea. She returned with it in hand to his side in her study.
Accepting the steaming mug, Severus said: "A black rose seems a trifle incongruous, doesn't it?"
Hermione nodded, gesturing at the card. Severus picked it up, looked at it and flipped it on the desk with a snort. "You don't really believe I sent you this?" he asked, a bit too snarky for Hermione's taste, but she resolved not to take it personal.
"Never," she said, seeing the humour in it, now that her confusion had melted off her. She smiled.
"I don't know what to tell Albus anymore," Severus said, sitting down in Hermione's chair. Suddenly, he seemed very tired, and older than he was. Why would this demand so much of him?
"Are you all right, Severus?" Hermione, serious again, asked.
He nodded. "Albus won't accept that we're not in love with each other." He looked at her hard. "We aren't, are we?"
"We aren't," Hermione replied sincerely, relieved that that was cleared up between them. It was amazing what you could make of things when looked from a different angle. But being in love with Snape? No. Never. He was older than her father. And he certainly had someone waiting for him, wanting him to spend the day with him, instead of eating absent croissants with her.
"Good."
Hermione busied herself by wrapping the offending rose up again, and putting a shrinking spell on it. Severus dipped a quill into the inkwell and wrote something on the card. He held it out for Hermione to see, and in his own penmanship he had added "I don't think so, Albus." The ink glistened in the pale wintry light. They sent the owl off again, together with the valentine.
"I'm sorry I don't have any croissants for you - yet, but I can and get some if-"
"I'll get them," Severus interrupted her, "and they're my valentine for the best friend I have."
Hermione blushed. He had never told her about his feelings regarding their friendship before, and it came quite unexpected now. Eventually, she managed a smile.
A quarter of an hour later, Severus returned with the promised croissants. Surprisingly enough, they were still warm, whereas he ran his handkerchief across his snowflake-mottled brow. "You should have put an insulation spell on yourself, too," Hermione said, passing him a new mug of hot tea.
This 14 February was not so bad after all, Hermione thought, as they dismissed Albus' scheming and began to discuss the topics Severus had brought up in his latest letter.
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