His face was a mask of impassivity. Shoulders stiff, he stalked through Diagon Alley, his forbidding eyes all but daring any passers-by to snigger. His stomach churned with mortification. His very robes refused to billow in their standard intimidating manner.
Every murmur he caught, every chuckle, every casual glance - surely they were all directed towards him. Severus Snape wasn't usually a self-conscious man, but then, Severus Snape did not normally find himself in a predicament quite as exquisitely embarrassing as this.
After an eternity he reached his destination. He thrust the bouquet towards a stunned Hermione.
"Happy Anniversary, wife."