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February 14th.
The second the younger students stepped into the Great Hall for breakfast, half of them actually stopped dead in the doorway, convinced they'd walked into the wrong castle.
Pink and red flowers drifted lazily through the air like living snowflakes, mixed with swirling ribbons of colored paper. Soft golden light spilled down from the enchanted ceiling, painting warm, dappled patterns across the stone walls and long tables.
The whole room felt wrapped in something sweet and warm and just a little bit sticky.
But the real showstoppers were the flying "creatures" zipping around the hall.
A dozen chubby, golden-haired toddlers with fluffy white wings soared overhead—some looping under the high vaulted ceiling, some darting between the house tables, a couple perched on the chandeliers swinging their little legs.
They looked maybe three or four years old, round cheeks, sparkling eyes, tiny wings flapping hard enough to scatter glittering sparks.
Some carried miniature bows and arrows, others tiny harps, little trumpets, or tiny drums.
"Wow—"
One witch couldn't hold back a squeal. She reached out tentatively toward a cherub hovering nearby.
The little angel turned, flashed a blinding smile, and flew straight into her palm, nuzzling its soft cheek against her skin.
"So squishy!" she gasped. "It feels exactly like a real baby!"
In seconds the whole hall was swarming the tiny flying messengers.
They quickly discovered the Cupids weren't just adorable—they were ridiculously friendly.
One cherub in a tiny white robe pulled a scroll from its satchel, cleared its throat with a very serious expression, and recited in a high, clear voice:
"Hogwarts witches and wizards, nice to meet you! You may call us Cupids."
"On this special day, do you have feelings you just can't say out loud?"
"If you do, simply hand us your letter—"
"And we will deliver it straight to the one who holds your heart!"
The hall exploded.
"They're too cute!"
"Wait—can they even read? I thought these were some kind of magical creature!"
"Who cares if they can read? They're adorable!"
…
Up at the staff table, Professor McGonagall lifted her teacup, eyes sweeping across the cheerful chaos below. Her face stayed its usual stern mask, but the tiniest spark of amusement flickered deep in her eyes.
She glanced sideways at Snape. The man looked even more exhausted than usual—deeper shadows under his eyes, like he'd pulled several all-nighters in a row.
"Severus," she said gently, "you look rather worn out. Teaching both Potions and covering Defense Against the Dark Arts is a heavy load. If you need any help—"
"No need," Snape cut her off coldly. "This is hardly enough to affect me."
His tone left zero room for argument.
McGonagall didn't push. She knew exactly how obsessed the man was with the Defense position—even temporary.
Snape's dark eyes narrowed on the students mobbing the Cupids. After a moment he spoke again, voice like ice.
"Minerva, I believe we should add a new rule to the school charter."
"Oh?"
"Private brewing of love potions is now banned." His voice dropped even lower. "Last week during rounds I found no fewer than five idiots in the practice rooms grinning like morons while hugging their cauldrons—failed love potions, every one."
McGonagall blinked, then gave a serious nod. "Quite right. That's far too dangerous."
Still… the kids had been extra lively lately. Perfectly understandable.
Her gaze drifted across the students again. Same black robes, but today the details popped: boys with hair shellacked into perfect styles, girls sporting delicate necklaces, colorful ribbons on wrists, rings that definitely weren't school-issue.
McGonagall reached out to catch a few drifting flower petals.
They looked perfectly real, edges glowing soft pink.
But the instant they touched her palm they dissolved into harmless sparks of light and vanished.
She tried again with a ribbon of colored paper—same thing. Solid-looking until it brushed skin, then gone.
Definitely not ordinary decorations.
Her eyes lifted to the Cupids darting overhead. Not living creatures. Not Transfiguration either.
Then her mind flashed back to the new Fountain of Beauty that had appeared on the path to the Quidditch pitch a few days ago—another "gift" from a certain student.
McGonagall gave a quiet, knowing chuckle.
There was really only one person at Hogwarts with both the skill and the sheer cheek to pull off something like this.
She glanced at the empty Headmaster's chair in the center of the staff table.
Then her gaze slid down to the Ravenclaw table.
Lucien sat there, calm as ever, sipping pumpkin juice while his dark-green eyes tracked the flying Cupids with quiet, professional interest.
No surprise. No wonder.
Just the steady look of someone making sure his creations were running exactly as designed.