"Hehehe~ Hehehe~"
In the office, Snape was humming to himself while scrubbing utensils, an uncharacteristic trace of cheer flickering across his face.
But the moment he noticed Damon still sitting there, the cheer vanished. His brow furrowed into its usual scowl.
"Why?" Damon raised an eyebrow. "So delighted just because you've become Defense Against the Dark Arts professor? You seem awfully satisfied."
"You don't understand," Snape muttered darkly. "Day after day, facing a group of dunderheads who don't know the first thing about dark magic or proper dueling… Do you have any idea what it feels like to wake up only to be greeted by a herd of trolls? Their movements clumsy, their instincts nonexistent—standing there and hurling spells like brainless targets."
Damon paused. "…Fair enough."
The truth was, he couldn't exactly argue. Hogwarts' standard of teaching in Defense Against the Dark Arts had always been questionable. Even in subjects like Transfiguration or Charms, the professors—though undoubtedly brilliant wizards—were hardly model teachers.
Damon thought back to his previous life. His high school teachers had been top graduates from prestigious universities, yet he himself had only managed a junior college degree. Compared to that, Hogwarts' situation was hardly surprising.
"Well, if you enjoy it, then savor it while you can. I doubt it will last long before Dumbledore finds a replacement." Damon waved casually as if to leave.
Snape's eyes narrowed. "What? Have you heard something?"
"Maybe," Damon shrugged. "Might even be someone you despise. Either way, enjoy it while it lasts—though I can't imagine what's so precious about teaching ninety-six classes a week."
Teaching seven year groups already meant forty-eight lessons. Now, with Snape taking both Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, the workload was doubled. Twice the classes, twice the essays to grade—without even a Time-Turner. Could anyone survive that? Damon grimaced and let the thought go.
The news of Snape's appointment had caused quite a stir. Surprisingly, though, the Slytherins seemed to have curbed their tempers; they no longer openly antagonized other houses. Even Malfoy, who once thrived on taunts, had toned down his behavior—though he still sparred verbally with Harry now and then. His academics had actually improved, too.
Harry and Ron were making progress as well, and even Neville was showing promise—enough to place him above most of his peers.
---
"Honestly, I feel doomed," Ron muttered before class one morning, arriving early. "Between your hundred and fifty points in Quidditch and Damon's two hundred for helping Dumbledore, Snape's going to claw all of it back in no time."
Harry grinned, undeterred. "So what? We'll just earn more. He can't take everything."
Hermione, however, sat beside them in silence, her nose buried in a book. Ever since the Lockhart fiasco, she hadn't been quite herself.
Damon flipped through his own copy of Ancient Runes: An Introduction, a faint smile playing at his lips.
Then the door banged open. Snape strode inside, black robes swirling behind him. Astonishingly, he'd even tidied himself up—his hair looked freshly washed.
Still, his expression remained as sour as ever. He stopped at the threshold, sweeping the class with a gaze sharp enough to slice stone. Instantly, the atmosphere tightened.
Without so much as cracking open his book, he flung it onto the desk.
When he caught sight of a student clutching Travels with Trolls and one of Lockhart's other ridiculous texts, his lip curled.
"Two points from Gryffindor," he sneered. "For bringing worthless rubbish into my classroom, you troll."
The boy flushed scarlet and quickly shoved the book under his desk.
Snape prowled through the rows, his eyes like icy needles. Students shrank from his stare—everyone except Damon, who met it head-on with a teasing grin. Snape's jaw tightened as he turned away.
"You may think Defense Against the Dark Arts is about flashy spells or empty words. But let me be clear—this isn't Lockhart's circus."
His tone was venomous, but no one laughed. Not even Hermione twitched.
"When I teach," Snape continued, his voice a low hiss, "you will understand that this subject is about life and death. Dark magic is not like the charms you toy with in other classes. It is cunning. It is merciless. And a single mistake will cost you dearly."
He stalked back to the podium, eyes glittering like a serpent's.
"So listen carefully. Your first lesson is survival."
By the time class ended, every student from the other three houses had a newfound respect for him. This was what Defense Against the Dark Arts was meant to be. Harry and Ron couldn't deny it either—though Snape's relentless point deductions from Gryffindor still stung.
"Was that necessary?" Damon remarked afterwards with a crooked smile.
Snape lifted his chin, sweeping past him, careful not to let Damon see the faintest curl of a smile tugging at his lips.
---
After Christmas, the Weasley twins officially launched their prank product line on campus. Their business thrived—especially among students who longed for an excuse to skip Snape's lessons.
But as January gave way to February, the nature of requests began to change. Students wanted pranks and charms aimed at something else—matters of boys and girls.
It was as though an unseen breeze drifted across the castle, carrying the fragrance of flowers, secret packages, and whispered exchanges. The air itself grew heavy with it.
No one could say exactly who started it, or when. But the word spread from the Great Hall like wildfire, impossible to ignore.
"Valentine's Day."
The once-hidden anticipation now bloomed openly. The festive air thickened, impossible to deny, even though the day itself was still two weeks away.
And so it dawned on every student, a realization both thrilling and maddening:
Valentine's Day was coming.
---
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