Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are sworn enemies. That is, until Draco uncovers the plot to sneak into the Slytherin Common Room using Polyjuice Potion. Suddenly, they're forced to see the good in each other, whether they like it or not.
Breakfast in the Great Hall on the fourteenth of February was a nightmare, to say the least.
The walls were strewn with so many violently pink flowers that you couldn't see the stone anymore; heart-shaped confetti was falling from the ceiling, and, even worse, Lockhart was dressed in robes so rosy pink that it resembled a flamingo costume. Harry felt nauseated, and it seemed he wasn't the only one, judging by the twitch of McGonagall's beady eye and the fact that Snape looked as if he wanted to sink into the floor.
"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart boomed. "And may I express my gratitude for the forty-six people that have sent me cards so far! I arranged this wonderful little surprise here for all of you"—Harry questioned the professor's definition of the word 'wonderful'—"and that isn't all!"
Grinning, he clapped his hands twice and several grumpy-looking dwarves marched into the hall. Harry didn't blame them— Lockhart had them wearing golden wings and carrying small harps.
"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" Harry buried his face in his hands. "They will be going around and delivering your Valentines! Also, I'm sure my colleagues will join in the spirit of the holiday! Why not ask Professor Snape how to whip up a Love Potion? And I'm sure Professor Flitwick will show you Entrancing Enchantments upon request!"
Flitwick looked as though he had just swallowed a lemon, while Snape's expression seemed to convey that he would murder the first student who asked him for a Love Potion with his bare hands.
All day, the dwarves came bustling into classes to deliver Valentines, much to the teachers' annoyance. Harry didn't receive any, thank Merlin, but he had to witness an anonymous singing valentine being given to poor Dean, whose flushed cheeks could be seen even through his dark complexion. Harry couldn't help but notice Seamus watching expectantly from another desk.
. . . . .
After what seemed like ages, the day was over, and Harry was free to escape to the Gryffindor dormitories, where there wasn't a spot of pink in sight. And as he sat on his bed, flipping through Riddle's diary for what seemed like the hundredth time, the flapping of wings brought his attention to the windowsill, through which Hedwig flew and landed on his night-table, a letter pinched in her beak.
He took the letter and rewarded his owl with a treat. As she flew off, Harry examined the envelope. Strangely, there was no sender on it. Harry carefully tore it open to take out the parchment inside, and he felt a jolt of an emotion he couldn't quite place shoot through his body after he had unfolded it and began to read:
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