บท 61: Valentine's Day
In the days that followed, Professor Snape half-heartedly mounted an investigation into the affair of the Gryffindor common room break-in, but nothing much came of it. There were two major clues that led Professor McGonagall to ask him to question his students. First, the green and silver vandalism; second, the trail of lime-flavoured custard that led straight to the Slytherin common room.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape both had a small idea of who could be responsible for this; after all, who else but Oleandra could use such strange magic, and yet was incapable of casting even the simplest Scouring Charm to clean up the trail of evidence? Nevertheless, Professor McGonagall was under the impression that the Transfiguration magic used was well above Oleandra's level, and she didn't have concrete proof. As for Professor Snape, the moment he heard what they had done to Potter and his friends' rooms, he simply stopped looking for the culprits. Rather than punish the culprits, he would have offered them a medal!
In any event, it was clear that this incident had nothing to do with the Heir of Slytherin. After a few days, the heat had died down as the patrols focused their attention back onto the matter of the petrifaction attacks, though Professor McGonagall did become much stricter with Oleandra in particular in her Transfiguration class, making her absolutely miserable. Speaking of the attacks, none had happened in a while, and Oleandra hadn't noticed Naudhiz giving her any warnings as of late.
But there was one thing that the rune of distress could never have warned her against, and that was February fourteenth. That's right, Valentine's Day was here!
The instant Oleandra set foot in the Great Hall, she felt as if she had been transported into another world. Pink! There was pink everywhere; pink flowers, pink hearts… pink teachers?
"Happy Valentine's Day!" Professor Lockhart shouted gleefully. "To thank you all for the cards you have sent me— forty-six in all— I have taken the liberty of changing the décor. And that's not all!"
With a clap of his hands, a dozen dwarfs dressed as cupids entered the Great Hall. According to Professor Lockhart's instructions, one only had to flag one down and give them a card, and they would read it out loud to its recipient.
"And that's not all!" continued Professor Lockhart. "Why stop there, when you could ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a batch of Love Potion? And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"
Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Oleandra looked suspiciously at the little man sitting at the teachers' table. It was true that with those looks and height (or lack thereof), he would certainly need a little extra help in matters of love. As for Professor Snape, if anyone had managed to summon the courage to ask him to teach them how to brew a Love Potion, he would have administered it to them rectally!
All day long, classes were interrupted by dwarfs bursting into song in their gravelly tones, and students would be stopped forcefully in the halls and be made to listen to embarrassing poems. Even Daphne wasn't immune.
"Oy, you! You Daphne Greengrass?" shouted a gruff-looking dwarf. "Got a musical message for ya."
Daphne looked every which way for an escape route, but having found none, she resigned herself to her fate.
The dwarf strummed his prop lyre, producing an out of tune twanging sound.
"Oh, your moist green eyes are full of scorn
Beautiful raven locks your head do adorn
You are as pretty as a rose bouquet
And as prickly as its thorn
But I don't mind; rather I prefer you that way
For you I would throw away all of my por—"
"I don't want to hear any more!" shrieked Daphne, and she ran away holding her hands over her ears.
"Wait, I'm not done with my message from Mr. Zabini!" shouted the dwarf.
Oleandra watched helplessly as the dwarf took off in hot pursuit.
_
After an entire class spent ignoring her, Daphne finally blew up at her sister as they headed to their Charms class.
"What the hell kind of impression did you give him of me!" Daphne hissed at her sister through gritted teeth. "When I trusted you with my marriage interview, I specifically asked that you act normally!"
"How was I supposed to know he was like that!" Oleandra defended herself. "I did exactly as you would have; I called him a narcissistic pig, and I acted cold and unapproachable. How could I have known he liked that sort of thing?"
As the sisters bickered, they came upon a strange sight. Potter was lying face first in a puddle of ink, and a singing dwarf had him pinned in a leglock.
Oleandra spotted a very familiar diary in the puddle of ink. So, it had been Potter's all along! But Draco beat her to it, picking up the book before she could.
"Wonder what Potter's written in this?" said Draco, grinning sinisterly at the prospect of reading its contents out loud and embarrassing him in public. Little did he know, but he had found the Heir of Slytherin he had been searching for all this time!
"Hm?" thought Oleandra, momentarily distracted by the face one of the onlookers was making. "What's wrong with the Weasley girl now?"
"Expelliarmus!"
Oleandra looked back at Draco; Potter had gotten to his feet and had cast the Disarming charm on him. After it had twirled through the air for a second, Ronald Weasley had caught the diary.
"No magic in the hallways, Harry!" said the red-headed Gryffindor prefect disapprovingly. "I will have to report this, you know!"
Oleandra wondered exactly how many Weasleys there actually were; she wouldn't have been surprised to see a new one each year.
As for Draco, he looked positively murderous. Not only had he wasted his chance to make fun of Potter, he had even allowed himself to be disarmed!
"I don't think Potter liked your valentine much!" he spat after the youngest Weasley.
Enraged, Ronald pulled out his wand to fight, but as he did so, the end fell off, held only by a strand of Spellotape. Luckily for him, Potter managed to calm him down, not wanting a repeat of the slug fiasco!
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