Chapter 172. Valentine's Day
Adrian Wesson looked around and found that the flowers and drifting confetti were all carefully arranged magical effects.
Presumably, the House-elves had been ordered about by Lockhart and kept busy all night.
Of course, Wesson didn't particularly mind this pink-toned decorative style.
So Wesson calmly walked to the staff table and sat down.
He was surprised to find that even the bread on the platter had been turned into heart shapes.
Forget it—whatever.
Wesson shrugged, grabbed a piece of bread, and took a bite.
Mmm… strawberry-flavoured.
There weren't many people in the Great Hall: a scattering of students, and Professor Flitwick beside Wesson.
The students wore all sorts of expressions—curiosity, puzzlement, disgust.
Some girls whispered excitedly, some boys looked thoroughly averse, and a few Ravenclaws were keenly studying the flowers.
Clearly, they all had different attitudes toward these pink decorations.
Professor Flitwick, meanwhile, was staring blankly at the magical rose that had suddenly bloomed in front of him.
When he noticed Wesson at his side, he leaned over and said, "Should I be wearing a pink bow?"
"As you wish."
Wesson nodded offhandedly and waved his hand, turning the rose in front of him into a pink bow.
"Oh, I was only joking," Professor Flitwick pushed the bow away with a frown. "To be honest, I don't like these decorations… who did all this?"
"No need to think," Wesson bit into the bread. "Lockhart's handiwork—today is Valentine's Day."
Professor Flitwick pressed his right hand to his forehead, wearing an expression that said of course.
Then he sighed and said, "Valentine's Day… I should have guessed sooner…"
Wesson smiled; clearly, Professor Flitwick's headache had already begun.
As for himself, he was naturally here to enjoy the spectacle.
"Ah, right," Professor Flitwick seemed to remember something. Lowering his voice, he edged closer to Wesson and asked mysteriously, "Wesson, forgive me for asking, but how old are you this year?"
Wesson raised an eyebrow. "Twenty-eight. Why ask that all of a sudden?"
"Twenty-eight…" Professor Flitwick stroked his beard meaningfully. "Although it may not be entirely appropriate to say this… aren't you thinking about getting married?"
"Kh—"
Wesson promptly choked on the bread. He looked at Professor Flitwick, half laughing, half crying. "Professor, has Lockhart rubbed off on you today?"
"Ah, don't misunderstand," Professor Flitwick waved his hands quickly, yet couldn't help continuing, "It's just—you see, you've very few women friends, haven't you? Back at school you weren't popular with the girls, and by rights, a wizard as accomplished as you…"
Wesson listened and took a calm sip of pumpkin juice.
Indeed, for some reason, he really hadn't been popular with girls when he was at school.
Although most women didn't dislike him, the only female who always spent time with him had been his younger sister.
Wait!
Could it have been because of his sister…?
Professor Flitwick went on, rambling, "Even Snape—he used to be pursued by girls…"
"!"
At the mention of Snape's name, Wesson nearly sprayed pumpkin juice.
He felt he'd just heard something astonishingly gossipy.
"And then?" Wesson asked, newly intrigued.
Just then, a black figure swept past before them.
It was Snape!
Snape wore a stony face as he surveyed the surroundings.
From his expression alone, it was clear he loathed the pink decorations to the extreme.
At once, Wesson lowered his head, pretending to take a deep interest in the heart-shaped pudding before him.
The subject of the gossip had arrived—hardly the moment to chat about it.
Fortunately, Snape paid no heed to their conversation.
Professor Flitwick forced an awkward laugh and timely changed the subject. "Ah… where was I? Oh, right—are you truly not going to find yourself a partner?"
Wesson shook his head. "I'm not interested."
He wasn't lying. What could be more important than magic and ideals?
Vague, misty love would only waste his time.
Suddenly, a buzz of commotion broke out in the Great Hall.
Wesson looked forward; at some point, all the seats had already been filled.
"Bang!"
The doors were suddenly flung open, and Lockhart, dressed in lurid pink robes, appeared at the entrance.
As if the protagonist were always the last to make an entrance, he drew every eye at once.
Lockhart strode all the way to the front of the Hall.
"Happy Valentine's Day, my dear students!" he proclaimed, as countless pink scraps of confetti drifted down from the air. "Today is a day brimming with love and magic! And I—took it upon myself to arrange some surprises, in hopes of banishing a few unpleasant feelings."
Wesson looked at Lockhart, at a loss for what to say.
He glanced around to observe the faces nearby.
Almost every professor was wearing a hard expression.
Professor McGonagall's brows were knit tight; Snape's face was dark; no one spoke a word.
Clearly, they didn't like the surprises Lockhart had prepared.
Since that was the case, Wesson said nothing either, waiting to watch Lockhart's performance.
Amid everyone's odd looks, Lockhart cleared his throat. "Ahem. Up to now, forty-seven people have sent me cards. Thank you all very much—and for the occasion I have a few other surprises in store."
Wesson suspected that Lockhart's claim of forty-seven card-senders was false.
His reputation among the students wasn't good at the moment.
Besides, he'd pulled similar stunts of sending cards to himself in the past.
"Now, please welcome your little Cupids!"
Lockhart clapped his hands, and the "surprise" he'd arranged came out through a side door.
A dozen dwarfs with decorative wings and harps on their backs—looking utterly ridiculous.
Then Lockhart said proudly, "They'll be roaming the castle today to deliver your Valentine cards! And if any of you need to employ them—don't be shy, don't be shy, just say the word!"
As Wesson had expected, Lockhart had brought in the dwarfs that existed in the original tale.
To be honest, dwarfs were not suited to play Cupids; their get-up was rather… how to put it… ghastly?
All right, forgive him for failing to find the precise adjective.
Why Dumbledore had agreed to let these dwarfs into Hogwarts was a mystery too.
"I'm certain my colleagues will be eager to join in as well," Lockhart looked toward the staff table and continued, "Why don't you ask Professor Snape how to brew a Love Potion? Or have Professor Flitwick teach you an Entrancing Charm to make you popular? Ah, he's so very good at that—the sly old dog! And Professor Wesson here—this handsome fellow can even rival me."
"Oh, spare me!" Professor Flitwick buried his head in his arms.
Snape remained expressionless, unmoved.
Wesson, for his part, watched the farce with amused delight, as if it were a circus act.
You know, this was actually quite entertaining.
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