Chapter 1 – Too Much Frivolity
There were too many Christmas trees.
Why, Snape thought, Why must there be a tree in every nook? And why did Minerva insist on filling the entire school with such outlandish decorations? Every year it seemed to become more ridiculous. There had even been ornaments hanging from the ceiling outside the potions classroom. Well, he had taken care of them this morning. The tiny globes were easily vanished with a flick of the Potions master's wand.
As Snape swooped around a corner on his way back from lunch, he stumbled into yet another Christmas tree, this one placed directly in the middle of the main hallway. It was enormous. Hagrid seemed to have found the largest and most outrageously bushy fir in the entire Forbidden Forest. The branches shook violently at Severus's attempts to untangle himself without causing a disturbance, but unfortunately, there were carolers standing just on the other side of the tree.
Gasping, the group of students stopped their singing in mid-sentence. In the ensuing silence, the singularly annoying sound of crashing ornaments ricocheted off the stone walls around them. As each glass ball fell like a bomb on the tiles, the entire assembly of gathered merrymakers focused their eyes on Snape.
"Well, what are you staring at?" he growled, lashing out dangerously with a tremendous roar. "Get to your classes, you little nitwits. It's nearly time for the bell. Henderson, you are miles away from the Divination classroom, and you, Patterson, are to be in the Astronomy tower in less than four minutes." Snape's mood had turned even darker than was normal, his eyes flashing like obsidian daggers. As his eyes flicked from one student to the next, he attempted to brush off the offending tinsel that was clinging tenaciously to his wool frock coat. With one last burst, he spat out a final order. "Now everyone – off with you."
Like an explosion, the children began to move, falling over each other in their haste. The exodus led to an almost riotous scrambling of arms and legs as they tried to get away, lest a last-minute detention find its way onto their schedules. It was only two days before the holiday break, and spending time with Snape in the dungeons serving detention was not a desirable situation.
After the corridor had finally cleared and the bell had finished its insistent clanging, Snape once again resumed his march back to the dungeons and the privacy of his office. The only class he had left to teach that day was his Newt level seventh years. Perhaps the pleasure of teaching his most talented students would lift his waning spirits. Shaking his head, Severus was not at all optimistic. After all he'd been through, he began to wonder if he would ever find pleasure in anything again.
xxxxxxxx
It had happened once more as he knew it would. Always, it was on Christmas Eve. The small package was resting, as usual, right in the middle of Snape's large oak desk. The item had been wrapped beautifully with a dark green paper and slender silver ribbons, the ends curling up in a mocking resemblance of a smile. As soon as Severus saw the thing, he could feel his face flush in anger and frustration. What diabolical fiend or wizard was responsible for this annoyance? The puzzling question slammed through his brain like a charging hippogriff.
Quickly, Snape reviewed the clues. Every year it had occurred in same fashion. The item appeared the day before Christmas and was placed squarely in the middle of his desk. The gifts were never very expensive, but they were always things he truly wanted or found useful. Only someone that knew Severus intimately could possibly have known of his desires. Some years he had received books, other times there were rare potions ingredients or articles of clothing, such as gloves. Last year he had received a much needed black leather wallet. Certainly, there was no harm in the gifts, but the frustration of not knowing the identity of the culprit was getting very tiresome indeed.
The trouble had begun over 20 years ago, appearing every Christmas that he had taught at Hogwarts. The only year that he did not receive the gift was the one he had spent in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries after the war, and that was four and a half years ago. He had even received the present when he'd been headmaster that fateful term so long ago. Absently, Severus rubbed the long deep scars on his neck, remembering all too well the pain of the attack that had almost killed him. To this day, he had never discovered the identity of his savior, the one who had delivered his blood-drained body to St. Mungo's.
There were too many strange puzzles that had no solutions in his life, but Severus was getting tired of them. He was getting tired of everything. His life had lost its direction and purpose once the Dark Lord had been vanquished. All he had left now was his teaching assignment, and that was an empty, unfulfilling endeavor. Term after term, he lectured about the same things, mumbled the same words over and over to a changing faceless sea of ungrateful students, their parents as unappreciative as their offspring.
No one cared about Snape. He had no real friends. There were colleagues, yes, and he had the respect of his peers in the potions world. Those other academics busied themselves with maintaining the old ways and never attempted to experiment. They were all a bunch of useless, lazy idiots, and he had no use for them.
Severus looked at the package as he stood with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. But this gift, it was an anomaly. It simply should not exist. Over the years he had speculated on its origins. It could have been Dumbledore, but as the old wizard had been dead now for more than five years, it was certainly not him. And Severus did not want to be reminded of that. Placing his long fingers on his temple, he rubbed the skin, somehow hoping it would help him think.
Lifting the beautifully wrapped package, he smelled it but could detect only a vague, light perfume. Perhaps the delicate fragrance had come from a bar of scented soap used to wash the hands before the wrapping was added. Next, he shook the gift and could discern a gurgling sound. The small box was quite heavy for a small item, and he thought it might be a liquid—maybe even a potion of some sort.
Disgusted with himself for indulging in idle curiosity, he placed the package back on the desk, adjusting it so that it was again placed exactly in the center of the desk. At one time, he thought it could have been Pomona or Minerva, but they had steadfastly denied it. He had never asked Madame Pomfrey, but she didn't seem the type.
No longer able to resist, he picked up the gift. With precise movements, he slipped the silver ribbons off the wrapping and tugged at the dark green parchment. It fell open easily to reveal a bottle of dark red ink. A rare smile crossed his lips. This was the exact shade of red he loved to use when marking papers. Beside the bottle was a brand new quill. It was of the correct size and fit in his hand beautifully.
In a swift movement, he sat down at the desk and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment. Opening the bottle he dipped the new quill in the ink and began to write, lowering his head close to the page to examine the way the line drew smoothly across the surface. It was a simple pleasure, but one he enjoyed.
And then he felt something very strange. There was the smallest movement of air across his neck. The brief sensation had even made his hair move ever so slightly. Perhaps he had imagined it, but no. He was sure he had felt something. Turning around slowly, his eyes searched the shadows behind him, the shelves illuminated only by the candlelight in the wall sconce by his chair.
"Ghosts …" he murmured.
Setting the parchment and the new bottle of ink aside, he picked up the latest copy of the Daily Prophet and opened it up, wanting to distract himself from the flood of questions that were spilling from his brain. As he looked at the ads, the happy faces of family reunions and sweet lovers smiled up at him from the newspaper. A sadness that he had been trying to ignore now overwhelmed him. For days, the persistent feeling of emptiness and lack of purpose in his life had nagged at his soul, accusing him of having wasted his life. There was also loneliness. He had not wanted to admit it. Stalwartly, he had tried to convince himself that he didn't need anyone. Friendship was a burden and a menace. The people you let get close would only hurt you or die and leave you abandoned.
Squeezing his eyes closed for a moment, he inhaled and attempted to squash his feelings. Looking at the paper once more, he began to read an article about a woman that had been reunited with her son after almost 50 years, her son having searched for her all that time. The picture showed the two embracing, the woman crying as she held her son and welcomed him joyously into her life.
"Blast …" Severus blurted aloud and threw the paper down. Were there only painful reminders of his pain? His mother had been dead almost 25 years this Christmas. She had killed herself in an attempt to get out of her loveless marriage. Severus frowned as his thoughts replayed that dark afternoon when he had found her in his parent's bedroom, dead from an illegal potion. There had been a note, but he remembered that he was unable to read it at the time, the tears clouding his vision.
Tears. He rarely let his emotions overwhelm him to the point of shedding tears, but there was another time, the memory rising like a dust storm before him. He had found a picture of Lily at number 12 Grimwald Place. The vision of her sweet smile and long red hair burned as brightly as when she was alive. His hand went to his desk drawer and pulled it open. The old, yellowed envelope was still there, tucked away, the photo within remaining hidden. His fingers touched the surface and seemed to burn him, the pain coming strongly again, his broken heart ripping open as if it had happened only moments ago instead of decades. She was long dead. Gone forever. Never would he hear her vibrant voice or look in the green eyes that had danced with mischief. He couldn't bring himself to open the envelope. Slowly, he closed the drawer.
Why was he torturing himself? It did no good. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, he could do to get her back. His life was over and had been ever since that fateful night when the Dark Lord had ended Lily's life.
And then, in a leap of vision, Severus realized what he had to do. Lily could never come to him, but the time had come for him to join her.
A plan began to form in his mind. It would be easy to do. At first he contemplated bringing along a potion to numb the pain, but that would never do. He needed to feel it. With a new found resolve, he sat up in his chair and nodded to himself. It would be the Black Lake. The icy water would take him into its depths and provide a rebirth into the afterlife. Lily would be waiting.
But, should he write a note? Like his mother had? No, there was no one in this world that needed to know what he had done, much less the why of it. No one had cared what he ever did, so why would they now?
Standing, he placed his fingertips on the desk and looked slowly around his office. There on the chair was his black cloak. His gloves were on the top of the bookcase, his overcoat on the hook by the door. There was, however, one additional item that would be going with him. His hand slipped to the desk drawer handle, and he pulled it open for the second time that evening. His long fingers grasped the small envelope, pulling it easily from its hiding place. With great care, he slipped it into his pocket next to his heart. Inhaling deeply, Snape strode toward the door and out into the corridor beyond.
