Valentine From a Potter

Headmaster Snape is given a Valentine.
Includes: Snape, Al Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, Lily Potter, and other Potters.

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The sun had hardly crested over the horizon, but Severus Snape was already awake and about. It was February, and cold, icy, winds whipped around the castle. Severus stood framed against a tall, slender, window, that allowed him to look down his nose and out over the campus as the first fingers of sunlight stretched over the perfect white blanket of snow, and made it glitter and glow. Steam wafted gently from his cup of tea, and warmed the cold tip of his nose. He sipped, and watched, considering what day it was. It was Valentines day.

Snape had never been fond of the holiday, as it only served as a bitter reminder to what he had lost. He had seen her when he passed behind the curtain of this world. Severus had blinked, as if waking up, and the green eyes he looked into were not Harry's but hers. Her tears fell upon his colorless face like a baptism, and she whispered her forgiveness, her appreciation, her love, and placed a kiss to his forehead. Her soft hands had stroked the side of his face, awash with their mingled tears. Her fingertips drifted to his neck, where he had been bitten, but his blood leaked from him no more.

"You must return," She said, her tender voice caressing him. Severus felt as if he were drifting,  his consciousness leaving him again, but how could it? He was already dead. "Thank you, Sev."

So he had returned—what choice did he have? When he had finally awaken, he was in a very familiar place—the Hospital wing of Hogwarts. Poppy was tending to him, checking the bandages around his neck, and Harry sat in a chair next to Snape's bed. The boy gazed at Snape with an uncharacteristic look on his face, and it took Snape's sluggish mind quite awhile, and an awkward amount of staring, to finally decipher Harry's expression. The boy respected him, Severus, and Snape was uncertain what to do with such a foreign concept being directed to him. He had closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

Since his return to life, and his meeting with Lily in his death, he had become a less bitter man. Lily's forgiveness had moved an enormous weight from his chest. He was not blameless, and he could never purge his past, but he had at least been forgiven for the greatest sin he had ever committed—bringing death, with pale hands and a cold, high, laugh, to Lily's doorstep.

His years after his near-death had been far better than his years prior. They had not been a storybook of complete bliss and happily ever after, but of course he had not expected any such thing. Life was never a fairytale, and Snape could not imagine that a "happily ever after" was quite the thing for him. He was glad enough to be freed from the bonds of his mistakes, to find the Dark Mark no more than a shadow upon his arm, and to spend his days solely in charge of educating young wizards and witches, rather than the slightly more demanding task of double-agent and protector of The Chosen One.

Snape continued to sip his tea, as he moved lazily around the room. He finally decided upon sinking into his well-worn leather chair, and doing a bit of reading before appearing at the staff table for breakfast. Snape crossed his long, slender, legs, and picked up a book he had left on a small table beside the chair. The spine of the book was well worn, the cover was falling apart and had seen too many "reparos" for the charm to be affective any longer, and the pages were yellowing. The books were old, and they had been a gift to him.

He had read through the series many times, a box set that Lily had gotten him in 1972 for his twelfth birthday. Along the spine the worn name of "Tolkien" could still be deciphered. Severus opened the book to read, though he knew much of it now by heart:

"Come, Gandalf, tell us how you fared with the Balrog!"

"Name him not!" said Gandalf, and for a moment it seemed that a cloud of pain passed over his face, and he sat silent, looking old as death.

"Long time I fell," he said at last, slowly, as if thinking back with difficulty.

"Long I fell, and he fell with me. His fire was about me. I was burned. Then we plunged into the deep water and all was dark. Cold it was as the tide of death: almost it froze my heart.

"Deep is the abyss that is spanned by Durin's Bridge, and none has measured it," said Gimli.

"Yet it has a bottom, beyond light and knowledge," said Gandalf. "Thither I came at last, to the uttermost foundations of stone. He was with me still. His fire was quenched, but now he was a thing of slime, stronger than a strangling snake. We fought far under the living earth, where time is not counted. Ever he clutched me, and ever I hewed him, till at last he fled into dark tunnels. They were not made by Durin's folk, Gimli son of Gloin. Far, far below the deepest delving of the Dwarves, the world is gnawed by nameless things. Even Sauron knows them not. They are older than he. Now I have walked there, but I will bring no report to darken the light of day.

In that despair my enemy was my only hope, and I pursued him, clutching at his heel. Thus he brought me back at last to the secret ways of Khazad-dum: too well he knew them all. Ever up now we went, until we came to the Endless Stair."

"Long has that been lost," said Gimli. "Many have said that it was never made save in legend, but others say that it was destroyed."

"It was made, and it had not been destroyed," said Gandalf. "From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak it climbed. Ascending in unbroken spiral in many thousand steps, until it issued at last in Durin's Tower carved in the living rock of Zirak-zigil, the pinnacle of the Silvertine. There upon Celebdil was a lonely window in the snow, and before it lay a narrow space, a dizzy eyrie above the mists of the world. The sun shone fiercely there, but all below was wrapped in cloud. Out he sprang, and even as I came behind, he burst into new flame. There was none to see, or perhaps in after ages songs would still be sung of the Battle of the Peak."

Suddenly Gandalf laughed.

"But what would they say in song? Those that looked up from afar thought that the mountain was crowned with storm. Thunder they heard, and lightning, they said, smote upon Celebdil, and leaped back broken into tongues of fire. Is not that enough? A great smoke rose about us, vapour and steam. Ice fell like rain. I threw down my enemy, and he fell from the high place and broke the mountain-side where he smote it in his ruin. Then darkness took me; and I strayed out of thought and time, and I wandered far on roads that I will not tell.

Naked I was sent back for a brief time, until my task is done. And naked I lay upon the mountain-top. The tower behind was crumbled into dust, the window gone; the ruined stair was choked with burned and broken stone. I was alone, forgotten, without escape upon the hard horn of the world. There I lay staring upward, while the stars wheeled over, and each day was as long as a life-age of the earth."

Snape sat his book aside, and imagined the flaming Balrog. Snape knew what it was to fall, entwined with a demon, down and down and down into a seemingly endless pit. He knew what it was to be chased by a demon through the deepest, coldest, places. Snape had fought with his Balrog longer than he had ever wished to. There were times when he had grown close to despair, but he had never accepted it. He had kept fighting against the fire and darkness of his past, and at last his Balrog too lay dead upon the cold snow.

Snape wondered why he had come back. He had not awoken to stars wheeling overhead, to days that were as long as a life age of the earth—though he was sure he had felt those kind of days before—but simply to Hogwarts again. Hogwarts always, it seemed. What was his purpose now that he was given life again?

Snape sat his book aside, and drank the rest of his now cool tea. He sat the cup upon the book cover, and considered again what day it was.

As years past Snape would no doubt find a mound of Valentines day cards and small gifts outside his door. Though this had gone on for quite some time now, he still found it strange. He had once been a boy who had never received a Valentine, and now he was an aging man, and blithering school girls who were smitten with him now (Merlin, why?) left mounds of them.

Snape readied himself for breakfast, and after finishing the last button on his black robe, he finally approached the door. He raised one thick eyebrow at it, and opened it with caution. A small mountain of cards, gifts, and chocolate boxes toppled into the room and onto Snape's feet. His thin lips twisted into less of a sneer than it would have years ago. Snape plucked up one of the cards, and opened it, but quickly dropped it again when it began to sing a sappy love song to him. Snape spelled the mound of things away, keeping for himself only one box of chocolates. After all, why not? He tore away the tag, and ran his wand over each chocolate, carefully inspecting them for any tampering. When he was satisfied that there was no trace of potion or poison, Snape popped one of the chocolates into his mouth and savored it. With a flick of his wand he sent the box to rest atop his desk, and stepped out into the hallway.

His day consisted of the usual routine. James Sirius Potter was in Snape's office a total of three times. How the boy managed to get into more trouble than even his namesake had during his reign, Snape would never know. Valentines day had at least come and gone, and tomorrow things would be back to normal—no annoying hearts, red and pink, flowers, students harassing other students for dates, or the perpetual mound of glittering things piled against his door. He had in fact cleared five more mounds away during the course of the day, and would not have been surprised by now to be greeted with a sixth when he returned to his quarters to retire for the night.

Snape was glad to see there was not a sixth mound, just a couple of stray cards, a hideous stuffed monkey, and a rose that was enchanted to change from red, to pink, to white, and then back to red. Snape quickly vanished them, and then turned on his heel. The sound of hushed voices had pricked his ears. Snape looked towards the minute sound and saw two second years huddled in a corner, partially concealed by shadows. He was still easily able to recognize them as Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Potter.

For once there was a Potter boy whom Snape did not feel such utter contempt for. It was true that the boy should have garnered it simply for his name, but Snape had found Albus to be the exception. Snape remembered the Sorting Hat atop the young Potter's head, and how surprised he, Snape, had been when the Hat delcared a Potter for Slytherin. Snape had watched the small boy with his grandmothers eyes move towards the clapping Slytherin table to join Malfoy, and he felt something quite as foreign to him as the respect he had seen upon Harry Potter's face the day he had awoken from death.

Snape had felt rather proud of the boy. He had even grown a bit fond of the boy, though he was sure this was some sort of mutiny against everything he knew. Albus was not like his elder brother, however, nor was he like Harry, and especially not like James. Albus was a quiet, timid, boy. While James Sirius would be wreaking some havoc around the castle, Albus would be found working diligently on his homework, reading, or glued to Scorpius and all harmless activities. Albus made good marks, respected the staff, and caused no trouble for himself. What then could he be doing now, lurking in the shadows?

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy," Both kids startled, and Scorpius actually shrieked. "Is there an appropriate reason as to why the two of you would be lurking outside my door, in the shadows?"

"Er..." Potter began.

"Go on!" Scorpius hissed. "If you really mean to go through with it." Scorpius sounded upset about something, his voice seemed edge with offense, or jealousy.

Snape was curious.

Albus shuffled forward, and Scorpius crept up behind him.

"I...um..." Albus looked up at Snape through vibrant green eyes. His hair fell messily over his forehead, and stuck up in the back.

Scorpius laced his arms over his chest, and looked crossly at Albus, his gray eyes narrowed.

"Madesomethingforyou," Albus said altogether, and thrust a red piece of paper towards Snape. Scorpius' lips curled downward, and he looked at the offering with contempt. Snape could imagine, if Scorpius Malfoy had been a bit braver, that he would have snatched the red paper away, and spat upon it in his current fowl temper.

Snape took the paper, and saw that it was a card—a Valentine.

Albus had drawn a heart on the front of it, and inside were words. Snape read them.

Happy Valentimes Day Hedmaster Snape!
I rily like you a lot even tho it makes Scorp mad.
I had choclits for you to but James thru them in the Black Lake.
Luv, Albus Severus Potter.

Despite the horrible spelling, the Valentine quite amused Snape. He looked up from it only to see Albus blushing a deep scarlet, and Scorpius with his lip poked out, on the verge of shedding tears. It was obvious that little Scorpius liked Albus, but Albus liked...Headmaster Snape. Snape's lips twitched. Snape was sure Albus had waited until the end of the day to deliver his card for trying to pluck up the courage to do it, and most likely Scorpius had spent the day ready to explode into tears, that his best friend would rather give the Headmaster a Valentine. Albus looked terrified by the ongoing silence, his emerald eyes were wide.

Scorpius sniffed.

Severus looked from one boy to the other, his lips no longer twitching. He had become impassive.

"This is unacceptable," Snape said. "If you were not in my own House, I would dock points."

Scorpius looked smug, but Al's expression drooped.

"Bu...but..." Now it was Al who was near tears. "Why!"

"For such abhorrent spelling, Mr. Potter," Snape said, and he crumpled the Valentine in his hand.

Albus looked devastated, and his tears brimmed over and rolled down his freckled cheeks.

Scorpius put his arm around his friend, and then pulled the dark-haired boy into a hug.

"Al, don't cry," Scorpius said, and Snape heard the boy whisper, "He's too old anyway."

Al gave a great watery sniff, and Scorpius let go of him.

"I suggest the two of you find your way back to Slytherin," Snape said, looking at the boys sternly down his nose.

"Right. Let's go, Al," Scorpius took Al's hand, and Al continued to sniffle.

The two boys retreated from Snape, hand in hand, and no doubt little Scorpius would comfort his friend and probably add in a few "I-told-you-so's". That was alright, though. Things were as they should be now, and perhaps Al would soon forget his boyhood crush on an ancient relic.

Snape retired to his room, and smoothed out the crumpled Valentine. He had not indeed disliked it, glaring spelling mistakes and all, he had rather been touched by it. Instead of vanishing it as he had done with all the other cards and gifts, Snape kept the card. He moved towards his bookcases and plucked up a book which was sister to the Two Towers which he had began his day with.

Snape turned to the back of the book, Return of The King, and read the last paragraph:

Merry and Pippin rode on to Buckland; and already they were singing again as they went. But Sam turned to Bywater, and so came back up the Hill, as day was ending once more. And he went on, and there was yellow light, and fire within; and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and put little Elanor upon his lap.

He drew a deep breath.

"Well, I'm back," he said.

Snape tucked Albus Potter's Valentine there, and closed the book.

Snape Accio'd a bottle of wine, uncorked it, and poured a glass. He sank down into his chair, thinking once more.

Perhaps Severus Snape had been given a second life for these small things and nothing more—a perfect snowfall at dawn, the nonsense of children and teenagers during the day, the comfort of familiar hallways, a light on in his window, a place to come home to, a good book and a glass of red wine in the evening, the lines that prematurely aged his face and the silver that streaked his hair, and this of all things—a Valentine from a Potter.

"Well," Snape said, and hoisted his wine glass, silently toasting to a life full of such simple things. "I'm back."