Memories of Valentine’s Days past, in all their hex-strewn, jinx-laden glory, had not left Snape open to enjoying the day. The realization that he would see young couples in corners kissing fervently, young couples holding hands and blushing furiously between classes, and boys and girls trying to get up the courage to say something, anything, to their crush of the moment, did not dispose him to like the day any better than his own school years had.

And by the time Gilderoy Lockhart had finished with his little breakfast announcement, Snape was now sure that this would be the worst Valentine’s Day ever. “Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip of a love potion,� indeed! That was the last thing Snape would to do. This Valentine’s Day might even top the one when James Potter banished the backside of Snape’s robes and charmed his underwear. Snape had realized instantly, of course, that his robes were missing in the back from the waist down, but there was nothing he could do about the inch-wide flashing hearts on his underwear, nor the gaggle of girls that had noticed this before he’d been able to clutch what remained of his robes around his rear and dash for his own dorm room. Though it had been years ago, the memory still soured Snape’s Valentine’s Days.

But the sight of class after class of giggling girls was the worst. Though Snape kept on his most ferocious face, it did not stop the girls from their endless twittering, or from their whispering, either.

“Do you suppose he really knows how to make love potions?� Gryffindor Alicia Spinnet asked a classmate as she grinned in Snape’s direction. “Heavens, he’d need a strong one, if he was going to use it!�

In the fourth-year class, Galmeta Periswilde, a Slytherin who had until this day stayed safely beneath Snape’s irritation level, batted her eyelashes, giggled, and even winked at Cormac McLaggen. The fact that he was a Gryffindor made this an inexcusable misdeed.

“Miss Periswilde, you will serve detention for your silly behavior in my classroom. Saturday morning, seven o’clock, you will report to this classroom to clean dirty vials.� Galmeta looked very hurt as she crept out the door in her more normal, quite mood. Good. He’d shot down some of this abominable silliness, anyway. Making eyes at a Gryffindor, especially one as stuck on himself as McLaggen... that was indefensible. Snape had planned on saving up a full day’s supply of dirty vials for Anne Rhys to clean the next time she needed detention, which she undoubtedly would sometime soon, but Galmeta’s offence could not remain unpunished, and he didn’t want to dock Slytherin any points.

Snape had already given the day up as hopelessly ruined by the time his last class of the day ended. He gathered his grading book, a rough draft of an article he’d been trying to write, and two new books he’d ordered from Flourish and Blott’s and not yet read, onto his arm, then strode to the classroom door. But when he pulled the door open, he had something of a shock.

There, standing hesitantly before him, looking terrified but determined, stood Hermione Granger, recently released from the hospital floor. She’d done all her schoolwork while she’d been there, and he couldn’t imagine what would have brought her to his classroom door just as his teaching day had come to a close.

“Yes, Miss Granger?� Snape asked in his iciest tone.

“Professor, I have a question,� Hermione said. Her voice was so quiet, he barely heard her words. And instead of looking at him, she looked down at something in the vicinity of Snape’s boots.

“Ask it, then. I have things I need to do before going up to supper.� Whatever her question was, it must have been pressing; she didn’t even have Harry Potter or Ron Weasley with her to absorb some of Snape’s scowl for her.

“Sir, I was wondering if you could tell me,� Hermione said in such a rush that her quiet voice was hardly audible, “do love potions actually work?�

Snape stared down on Hermione without answering for several long seconds. Surely the girl was in jest. She had dashed over after her last class of the day, waited while older students straggled out the door, and accosted the dreaded potions master just to ask him if love potions actually worked? Maybe Lockhart had put a charm on her to force her to ask, just to be sure somebody had been brave enough to carry out his suggestion. No, that would have given Lockhart credit for being less self-absorbed than he was.

“I would think the library would be a better source for that answer,� Snape answered finally.

“No, sir, I looked, but none of the books told me if–if love potions are permanent, or just temporary.�

Actually, there were books in the Hogwarts library that would have told exactly that thing, and Snape was on the edge of telling her which ones they were, just to get her out of his way, when he remembered that all of them were in the restricted section, and all were buried in the middle of boring-looking potions books that would not attract the attention of giggly girls or love-besotted boys.

“The effects of love potions vary according to the potion itself,� Snape answered shortly. “The longer-lasting ones are more complex than a student, even an advanced seventh-year student, could master. Do you have any other questions?�

Hermione cast him one questioning look, and without meaning to, he caught the reason behind her request. Oh, of all things... the stupid girl wanted to catch that blithering Lockhart’s attention!

“Young girls should not be thinking of love potions,� Snape said frostily as some protective corner of his mind leapt to the fore. The last thing any young female student needed was to be brewing love potions to try to catch a grown man! The idea was frightening. “Now go along, Miss Granger. Put your mind on more serious work. I’m ashamed of you for even thinking about love potions.�
“Yes, sir.� Hermione ducked her head again, whirled in a hurry, and nearly ran away toward the stairs and the entrance hall.

Honestly. What was in the child’s mind? Love potions! At–how old was she? Twelve? No, if he remembered correctly, she had already turned thirteen. And girls matured faster than boys, generally. Perhaps her stint with cat fur and tail had done something to Hermione’s brain! No–it was more likely to be her age and oncoming teenage hormones rather than her odd brush with cat-like features But even so, to be even so much as thinking of a love potion and Gilderoy Lockhart in the same idea was repulsive in a child of her age! She ought to be ashamed of herself, more ashamed than she was.

Snape closed and locked the classroom door more noisily than usual in response to his irritation. And he did not walk in his usual stealthy way through the dungeon corridors. Nor was he looking much at the floor, and so it was that he nearly tripped over his next hindrance to getting his supper.

“Sir!� A voice from near the floor caused Snape to drop one of his books and snatch at the rest before they fell. The dropped book hit the head of the person who had called to him.

“Miss Rhys!� Snape nearly shouted in frustration.

“Ow!� Anne Rhys had both hands on top of her head where the book had hit her by the time Snape was able to focus his eyes on her. “Don’t trip over me, Professor.�

“Why are you sitting in the middle of the corridor?� Snape asked, picking his fallen book off the cold stone floor.

“I was waiting to talk to you, sir,� Anne said, rubbing at the top of her head. She brought her hand away and looked at it doubtfully, probably expecting to see blood. But her head hadn’t bled, fortunately, or Snape would have had to explain that to Dumbledore–or worse, that awful Damaris woman.

“Are you hurt?� Snape asked belatedly.

“Just the top of my head. It’s not bad.� Anne climbed to her feet. “I wanted to ask you something before you went up to supper. I figured you’d be harder to find afterwards.�

Oh, that girl and her unending American accent. Being raised by a Welshman and spending the first four or five years of her life in Wales was not enough to counteract those childhood years spent in the United States.

“Well, ask, then.�

Anne looked up at Snape with her overly-solemn face. Her hair, clean as it always was, could not be considered anything but messy. Had the child touched it with a brush or a comb since she had risen from bed that morning? Unlikely. Somebody ought to tell her to neaten her hair.

But in that instant before Anne began her question, while she still settled back on her heels for her customary gathering of her thoughts before speaking, Snape looked more closely at her–or perhaps, more distantly at her. Besides her unkempt hair, she also wore worn-out robes with frayed cuffs and hem, and a distinct hole in the right elbow. The robes were too short by several inches, for the child had grown, and the equally too-short hems of pants legs showed out the bottom, as well as red and purple striped socks. And her shoes, Snape observed, were old–and even to his untrained eye, too short for her feet. That Damaris woman was right. The girl was sadly neglected at home.

But then, she was well-provided with flannel pajamas, a nice pair of Muggle denim pants that were not too short, and several Muggle jumpers. And her socks, no matter how oddly-colored, were always new. As the Damaris woman pointed out at every Anne-centered meeting, the girl’s father at least tried to help.

“Sir,� Anne said finally, after evidently having gathered her thoughts adequately, “I want to know something about love potions.�

Love potions! Again! In one day, two second-year students wanted to know about love potions!

“And who’s heart do you want to snag, Miss Rhys?� Snape asked, his tone rather nastier than he had intended.

Anne was not overly bothered by this, however; when she met Snape’s eyes, she had none of the fear or shame the Granger girl had shown. “Um, sir, it’s not– I’m not trying to...� Anne quit talking and rocked more fully back onto her heels, bringing one hand up to her chin in a thinking gesture. She considered him solemnly. “I just wanted to know how, exactly–no.� She smiled slightly and shook her head. Then she began again. “I want to know what kind of love a love potion makes.�

“What kind of...?� Snape stared down at his most irritating of Slytherin students. Why, why, why had she ended up in Slytherin?

“Yes.� Anne nodded, still with her hand at her chin. “Yes, I want to know what kind of love a love potion actually causes. Is it just that silly romantic stuff, where somebody looks at you and gets all flutter-hearted, or is it the kind where they get jealous of you if you talk to somebody, or is it the kind of love where they just care a lot about you and want to talk to you and know your opinion, and want to be sure you’re reasonably happy? That’s what I want to know.�

Anne Rhys’s unfortunate gift made itself abundantly clear at that moment. Looking directly into Snape’s eyes, as Anne had a habit of doing (since she wouldn’t develop a proper fear of him), left him in a position to see her emotions if they were strong enough. And on this subject, her emotions ran forcefully. To the forefront of her mind rose, not a silly boy, or a sillier professor, but the image of Anne’s own mother–unloving, neglectful, and many times, outright abusive of Anne.
And this was why she sought out her prickly-mannered potions professor by sitting in the middle of the corridor he’d have to walk through to get to his supper.

“Miss Rhys,� Snape said slowly, “there is no potion in existence, nor do I believe there ever will be, that can cause the person who ingests it to feel real love toward another person. And that is what you want to know–if a potion can inspire actual love.�

At his answer, Anne’s eyes became–not disappointed, but resigned. “Well, I thought that would be the answer. But I figured I ought to ask. Not that Professor Lockhart knows much of anything, but when he mentioned love potions at breakfast, I just thought–but now that I know, I’ll let you go. Sorry for keeping you when you’re hungry.�

“I wish there was a love potion that could do that,� something from Snape’s own lonely past caused him to say more softly, more longingly, than he’d ever spoken before a student before.

Anne paused in the act of turning toward the stairs to the entrance hall and looked back over her shoulder at him. In her messy-haired, overly-solemn way, she looked too mature for her twelve years. She gave Snape a tired smile. And in that smile was a tiny flash of understanding of Snape’s past, no matter how distantly she had realized it.

“Come,� Snape said briskly. “Supper has started, and you need to eat. So do I.�

“Will you walk up with me? One of those weird dwarfs tried to corner me earlier; he kept saying I was Anne Perkins, and he had a Valentine’s Day message for me.�

“Anne Perkins?�

“I think he was looking for Salley-Anne, but I decided to do her a favor and not tell the dwarf her whole name. So it’s likely he’s still out there looking for her, and he’ll probably try to sing at me again, if he finds me.�

“That would be nauseating,� Snape said sourly. “If I see him, I’ll send him on his way.�

“Thank you, sir.� Anne gave him her faint, wry smile.

“Well, let’s go, then.� Snape shifted his books on his arm again. “Hopefully Lockhart won’t have done anything more revolting than he already has.�

Anne grinned, and the two of them fell into step with each other.

The day had been bearable, after all.