InsaneJournal

Her Day

                There were his days and there were her days and Valentine's Day, he knew, was her day—in fact, it had never been his day, even when there wasn't a her. It was exactly a week away, the fourteenth, and already he was on edge. Did people just assume from his crusty exterior that he didn't need love notes or little gifts? Or was it that he was male?

                The situation with the Chamber of Secrets was getting very bad, and he was constantly trying to check on the Mandrakes, to the point that Sprout threatened to hide a venomous tentacula sproutlet in his bed if he did not leave the poor plants be. He had sneered and returned to his dungeons. Being unable to see the Mandrakes for himself now made it all that harder to keep the already-thin control he had over his temper from cracking away.

                On top of all that, there was now a house-elf in his quarters. Why was there a house-elf in his quarters? "What are you doing in my quarters?" he barked at it, though he could already see the reason. It had a small red package in its hands. When he greeted it thus, it squeaked and held the package up like a shield. He ripped it from the creature's hands and, crying, it disappeared, right back into the kitchen where it belonged. Perhaps it hurt itself when it returned, he thought, cheering himself up. God, he loathed the creatures.

                Now, as for the package, he checked it for hexes thoroughly, which was his usual reaction to getting a package, but especially around Valentine's Day. They didn't usually start it out this early, though, and, this year, wouldn't they all rather send serious notes to Lockhart the "hero"? He willed it open with a swish of his wand and the lid flew across the room. Stepping closer a bit warily, he peered into the box to see . . . a picture frame. On reaching to pick it up, a chocolate butterfly flew right out of the box from underneath it, with the audacity to land on him. He snarled at it, plucking it from his shoulder.

                The butterfly just fluttered lightly, trying to get away, almost playful about its own survival. He shoved it in his mouth just to be rid of the thing, half of the thing in one go until it stopped twitching, which took a few moments. Milk chocolate. He grimaced. Ah well. The package was unsigned, but, touched, he had a feeling he knew who it was from.

                The next day it was much the same thing, though this house-elf was different, and this chocolate butterfly was dark chocolate with chopped walnut. Better. The gift was a bit of a Puzzle Picture. When all the pieces were put together, they could be arranged just so to form an image. But take even one away and they were blank, save for the writing on the back side that said, well, "Puzzle Picture", obviously, and he rolled his eyes. Puzzle Pictures were child's play—well, there was that one horror novel he'd read that used them, and that had been interesting, but beyond that they were for young witches and wizards in their first couple years or for particularly sappy lovers.

                Children. "It's got to be Arthur," he said to the remaining half of the butterfly, which was still twitching. He loved it when they did that.

                For the next five days, he received more pieces of the Puzzle Picture and more chocolate butterflies, including one filled with coconut, one with cream, one with caramel, one just plain dark chocolate, and one with mint.

                He opened his drawer and took out the frame and the first five pieces of the Puzzle Picture, shaking his head at himself as he arranged them all in one go. And promptly gaped. Well. Arthur Weasley it was.

                In typical wizarding photograph fashion, it was moving. Gentle rose petals fell in front of the man, Arthur, as he gazed shyly at the viewer, naked save for the heart that interrupted what would have been a beautiful view. He supposed he had to forgive him, though, because the heart said "Yours" on it and the shy Arthur blew kisses toward the camera.

                He held it in his hands gently, smiling at it for a moment before placing it on the nightstand.

                The next morning was Valentine's Day and, though he had the wonderful gift, the first he'd ever received from anyone on Valentine's Day, ever, he was appalled and disgusted as he looked around the Great Hall. He would have clung to the thought of his picture, but a picture was worth 1,000 words and words were naught compared to actions—he would know, he had been a spy in the past, hadn't he?

                He waited all day for a letter from Arthur. Just a simple "I love you", since the man was feeling so romantic. Something like that. Now that he'd finally gotten something from the man for Valentine's, he wasn't yet satisfied with just a "Yours". He wanted an "I Love You", or an "I love you" or, preferably, an "I LOVE YOU!!", or, he even felt desperate enough to accept an "i wuv you"—yes, that desperate.

                By the end of the day, with no owl and naught to return to but a bloody Puzzle Picture, he turned it toward the wall, refusing to acknowledge it. It had become increasingly suggestive, and he really did not want to have to blast it into oblivion, not just yet.

                The words of the picture, whatever they were, were empty when he thought of the fact that he was second string, and it was shown through action. Valentine's Day. Molly's day. Her day. Not his day. He gritted his teeth as he changed into his night shirt, silently cursing the man. To spend a Valentine's Day with his lover wasn't such a grave request, was it?

                His heart leapt the next morning at breakfast as a Ministry owl dropped him a letter. "I have to see you," it said, and suddenly his blood ran cold, the leap his heart took resulting in a nasty spill as it stopped in the middle of it.

                "Alright, Severus?" said Minerva.

                "Yes, yes," he said, ripping the parchment as he abruptly tried to appear unaffected.

                "Oh yes, clearly."

                He glared at her until she looked away, peering down at her breakfast awkwardly.

                "I'm going to kill that man," he muttered to himself as he made his way out to the gates of Hogwarts.

                "What man?" said Arthur brightly. He motioned for Snape to come closer. Cautiously, grudgingly, he did. "What's wrong?" said Arthur.

                Snape just stared at him blankly. As if he didn't know. He was about to break their relationship off for good. Severus would have beaten him to the punch to save face, but he didn't want to break it at all, much less out of pettiness.

                "Want one?" said Arthur, hanging him a clear bag with a few chocolate butterflies.

                "Chocolate isn't—"

                "One of your favorites, yes, but it's nice to feel pampered, eh?"

                "Look, I have tasks to attend to," said Snape, waving off the bag impatiently.

                "Did you like the gift?" asked Arthur rather innocently, ears reddening a bit.

                "I like the sincerity of it," he said pointedly, sneering. Sincere as his affection for Lockhart, singing cards, and house-elves, that is.

                "What's with the attitude?" asked Arthur, adjusting his glasses.

                "Well, come on, then! Do what you came here to do!" snapped Severus.

                Arthur's big, brown eyes widened behind the glasses that nearly slipped down his nose at that. "You don't think it's a little crowded out here?" he said, looking around.

                "No one is here."

                "You don't think it's rather public?"

                Severus crossed his arms.

                "Rather cold?"

                Well, he could have that one. "That's why I want you to get it over with," he grit out.

                "Er . . . ." Still looking a bit startled, Arthur shrugged. "Good a place as any, I suppose," he said nervously, looking about again.

                "Indeed. I'd like to get back to the castle soon."

                Arthur smiled a bit. "Well, always with that attitude about these sorts of things."

                "'These sorts of things'?!" cried Severus, gnashing his teeth. "How on earth am I supposed to be responding?!"

                "After my nice gift?" Arthur reached out for Severus's hand, but Severus drew it away. "Alright, then . . . ." One last look around and then, "Well, I guess I should go first," he said, and just as Severus was going to tell him he damn well should be the one to speak first, he found the thought screeching to a halt as Arthur unbuttoned his cloak, and then pulled off his robes.

                "Are you mad?!"

                "Leave the robes on, you think?" said Arthur. "Yes, I suppose so." He pulled them back on, only slipping his underpants down.

                Severus was taken aback.

                "Aren't you going to undress too?" said Arthur, beginning to shiver. "The sooner we get inside, the better."

                All of a sudden, it made sense. Severus let a breath out. "This is all about sex?"

                Arthur's ears reddened again. "I won't have you think . . . I mean, I love you." He reached out his hand toward Severus again and Severus didn't pull away this time, nor did he move toward him.

                "Get on your hands and knees," growled Severus, and, even as Arthur's eyebrows shot up, he complied.

                Severus worked neatly-lubed fingers into the man roughly before claiming him right outside the castle gates like that, in the cold. But how could they remain cold when there were moans and the erotic coupling of their now-joined bodies?

                "Fucking her last night, were you?" Severus snarled down at the man, driving into him even harder. Arthur gripped at the mud, scrabbling for purchase, groaning deeply.

                "I asked you . . . a question," he roared.

                "Yes," said Arthur softly.

                "And you love both of us?"

                "Deeply!" gasped the man writhing beneath him, writhing around his cock deliciously.

                "Happy . . . fucking . . . Valentine's Day," he spat, driving in only a few more times before he came inside of his Arthur, collapsing across his back.

                "Happy Valentine's Day," repeated Arthur tentatively, gently grasping one of Severus's hands to pull it down to his prick, pushing into it only for a bit before he came as well.

                Severus stood, brushing his robes off. "Don't you scare me like that again."

                "Scare you?" said Arthur, trying (and, for the most part, failing) to make himself look presentable as well.

                "'I need to see you.' Remember?" he said coolly.

                "Oh! No, I meant I needed to see you. Not that 'we need to talk' or any of that rubbish. We've been at this for years. You never said anything! I'm sorry if I hurt you," said Arthur, looking sufficiently guilt-ridden.

Severus reached forward to grasp his shoulder, pulling him closer. Arthur stumbled against him and he leaned in to whisper, menacingly, "You spend your night with her, but then you come to me."

                Arthur shivered. "Okay," he said, reaching his arms up to hold Severus to him.

                "It's a nice picture, though," said Severus thoughtfully.

                "You didn't find it childish of me?"

                "Oh, no, I definitely found it childish. But I'm content in the knowledge that you're completely mad, so."

                "And you're mad too," said Arthur with a smile, "to think I'd leave you."

                "For the record, though, no more infernal butterflies."

                "No more Chocolate Butterflies," said Arthur in agreement.