White Heather for Protection

Another Interlude: Day of Love. Or Not.

A nagging sense of unease told Severus that today would be a bad day. He trusted his instincts, honed from all the time spent around bloodthirsty and cruel monsters. The years he'd spent as a Deatheater didn't hurt either.

His discomfiture dogged his footsteps all the way to the Great Hall. If he snapped at a couple of students he met on the way, then it was just unfortunate for them. They shouldn't have been laughing and hugging in the halls anyway. He still couldn't quite put his finger on what was different about this day, but the atmosphere seemed to be saturated with...something.

Schooling his features into his typical mask of scorn, he swept into the Great Hall. As expected, at this early hour, few students were in attendance. Several Ravenclaws, heads buried in books filled with useless facts they were trying to memorise. A Hufflepuff or two, scribbling last minute additions to essays due today. No Gryffindors, for heaven forbid they wake earlier than they need to. His eyes trailed to his own house table. A handful of them were already halfway through their meals, eating with restrained etiquette more commonly seen at high society functions. A particular student caught his eye.

Heather Lyra, of course, toed the line of impropriety with her dining habits. While certainly a neat eater, she hardly displayed the stiff control her housemates did. In fact, her movements were smooth, elegant, even, if Severus were a man who was loose with his praise. Also different from her fellow witches was the sheer amount she ate. This was her third serving so far since he'd arrived. And Salazar knew how much she'd already eaten before that. Quite refreshing, if he were to admit, to see a teenaged witch not pecking at her meals like a tiny bird. Where did the girl put that all away? She was not even on the Quidditch team anymore, so it certainly was not exercise that burned away all those calories...

And he was entirely too fixated on the blasted girl. Next he knew he'd be pondering the state of her love life or cosmetics. Not that she needed any, with her fair-

He growled in annoyance, causing a nearby Hufflepuff to jump in his seat.

He pointedly turned away from the distracting little brat and to the breakfast selection. Immediately, his gaze was bombarded with shades of red. Grape juice instead of the typical pumpkin juice. Raspberry jam. Pancakes with chunks of strawberries. That niggling sense was practically banging on his head now. He felt his eye twitch. He would puzzle this out after a much-needed cup of tea. Bringing his cup up for a sip, he very nearly spat it out. His typical Earl Grey had been switched out for this ghastly maroon fruity concoction!

"Ah, good morning Severus! Enjoying the new blend? Berries and apple, I believe."

Albus, of course! Glaring, he looked up at his recently-arrived employer. Only his inestimable self-control kept him from gaping foolishly.

"Albus. You are looking...bright today." Indeed, in startling hues of crimson and pink.

The old dodder beamed excitedly. "Oh, you noticed!" Even Longbottom would notice, as incompetent as he was. "All the better to get into the festivities, don't you agree?" Festivities? Severus did not want to know. "Valentines' Day is such a lovely holiday, isn't it? Muggles have the most wonderful ideas."

Damn it all! It was this blasted day again! Now he knew why he'd been on edge since waking. The little monsters would be nigh on uncontrollable today. There went his plan to have the sixth years brew the very difficult, very convoluted Draught of Living Death. He did not need a fatality on his hands - the Board would be insufferable.

Not replying Albus, he summoned the pot of Earl Grey from the other end of the table. None of that fruity nonsense. Herb tisanes, he could tolerate, perhaps even floral brews, but fruit? He withheld a disgusted sneer.

A commotion at the Slytherin table drew his gaze and he looked over reflexively. Of course, who could it be other than Heather Lyra and Tweedles Dee and Dum? He watched, with the same aghast intrigue one might have watching a broom wreck, as they offered her flowers which started singing and spouting poetry. Surely the girl would be irritated by the useless ornaments? What use did she have for such junk?

From somewhere unknown, fury rushed forth at the sight of her unfettered smile. Green eyes sparkled with obvious joy, even from where he was sitting. And then he wasn't. Sitting, that was. Without quite realising it, he had stood and started striding towards the trio.

As he approached, the girl rose on her tiptoes and pecked each of the idiots on the cheek, scandalously close to their mouths. The simmering anger turned into roaring Fiendfyre.

With restraint that even he did not know he possessed, he refrained from cursing the unworthy little cretins. Looming over them from behind the girl, he hissed, "Messrs Weasley, you will refrain from attempting amorous advances on my snakes. The breakfast table is hardly the place for whatever lurid acts you two are no doubt contriving in your lecherous minds." With unholy glee, he savoured the pure terror on their ruddy little faces.

"20 points from Gryffindor for that indecent display of Weasley mating habits," he all but spat out, "Now get back to your places!" The dratted idiots scuttled off like the hounds of Hel were after them. So much for the vaunted Gryffindor bravery.

He stormed away soon after, not even pausing to listen to the utter drivel that was Lockhart speaking. He ate quickly, passing over the garish red foods for a sensible omelette and muffin. Once done, he stood with a terse nod at Albus. His peripheral vision caught sight of the girl, staring wide-eyed at a gremlin passing her a stack of pink letters. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palm.

He could not leave the hall quickly enough, even with his long rapid strides. He gave a weeks' detention to a couple lingering in the corridor for pawing at each other and glared daggers at others walking to their classes.

Even now, the memory of that scene had him stewing in rage. Only, some of that was directed towards himself. What business was it of his that the girl was so free with her affections? Certainly, it was just the inappropriate light she was shedding on their house. Maybe even that she could do much better than those blithering buffoons. Had he really been commending her for toeing the line of impropriety only an hour before? He took it back. Vehemently.

Needless to say, Gryffindor lost a record number of points that day. For once, however, it was not in Hadrian Potter's class, but that of a certain pair of redheads.