Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the world of Harry Potter.
Regulus was dead, to begin it. And so was she.
These unchecked sores festered especially harshly around the holidays for reasons Severus Snape did not like to dwell on. Instead, during this time of year, he usually was at the office desk in his home with a book in his hands, occasionally brushing stringy black hair out of his eyes with such annoyance it was a wonder he had not yet chopped it all off. Other times, he graded papers.
Snape was not what one would call "happy" to be a teacher, but he took some enjoyment out of it nonetheless. This was particularly apparent to him when grading the abhorrent results of a rather difficult assignment.
Around eleven o'clock on the night of December 24th, Snape could be found writing nasty comments on Neville Longbottom's scribbled essay. The assignment had many components, one of which was to change the specifications of a Sleeping Draught to make one sleep for five hours instead of the standard eight. It was not an exceptionally difficult question. Snape had even considered leaving it out of the requirements that year, but he found too much joy in the increasing number tardies of students who had misjudged their potion's potency when testing it out.
According to the answer given his on paper, poor Neville never found the right solution. The correct answer was to double the heating time of the potion, but he wrote that one Valerian sprig should be added and one measure of flobberworm mucus redacted which would actually result in not a five, but a twelve-hour sleep. This, Snape then realized, explained what he had heard several Ravenclaws giggling in the hall over before holiday break began.
Apparently one day the week before, Neville ran without a wand on his person into Transfiguration with ten minutes until the end of class and a bright red Remembrall falling out of his hands. He reportedly turned pink in the ears right before Minerva McGonagall turned them into the ears of a house elf, demonstrating that day's lesson of transforming body parts. After that, Neville's ears were the color of his Remembrall and remained so until class ended and McGonagall performed the counter spell to return them back to normal. Though, they still looked rather larger than average to Snape whose sneer almost looked like a smile when he realized all this discomfort was linked back to him.
After he was through with that essay, Snape snatched the next off the top of the stack and his almost-smile vanished when he saw the name written in the upper right corner of the parchment: Harry Potter. He dipped his quill in the small pot of red ink and wrote a large perfunctory D for Dreadful on the page. No doubt Potter would live up to it. As Snape started to read the introductory paragraph that appeared to have less Potter and more Granger than it should, he heard three knocks on his front door and stood, grumbling, to greet whoever it was with the audacity to impose upon a man in his own home at this hour. If it was a group of late night carolers, Snape thought, he just might hex them.
Snape needn't have been so bothered, though, because at the door was Albus Dumbledore and Snape, who had never found it unpleasant to be in his presence, opened the door a little wider. Before Snape was able to greet his guest, Albus said, "Though I do feel remorse about this, Severus, we must skip the pleasantries. I am going to assume you've asked me inside and asked me if I would enjoy a cup of tea, to which the answer is yes, I would, only, not chamomile. We have much to discuss."
Snape replied, "Of course," in a slightly awkward and put upon manner as Dumbledore pushed past him and sat down in his favorite plush chair.
"What brings you here, Professor, in such a hurry to skip pleasantries?" Snape asked while filling the kettle.
"First, I must tell you what has happened tonight before I ask anything else of you," Dumbledore said. When Snape looked over from where he was rummaging through his tea cabinet, he saw Dumbledore with his legs crossed, staring at his own steepled fingers with glazed eyes. Snape sometimes saw Dumbledore with that same look in his eyes after he had been peering into the Pensieve. He often wondered what Dumbledore saw in that contraption of his and had almost asked once before he thought better of it. Snape had enough secrets of his own.
"Tonight, Harry Potter came into my office."
Snape did a routine shudder at his name. He had hoped this would not involve the boy.
"He was quite distressed. He said he had a dream that a snake attacked Arthur Weasley," Dumbledore was still staring at his hands.
"And he came to you? Just like him, too. He can't even have a bad dream without telling the Headmaster."
"Now is not the time for your prejudice, Severus," Dumbledore said. Snape hardly thought whatever prejudice he harbored was unwarranted, but he kept quiet all the same.
"Harry claimed that the dream was not just a dream. He said it had actually happened," Dumbledore finally looked at Snape for the first time since he had entered the house and seemed to wait for Snape to make a snide remark, which Snape might have, had he not seen the grave look on his visitor's face.
"He was right, Severus. Arthur was found covered in blood with two puncture wounds in his side. He is at St. Mungo's now and Harry Potter and the rest of the Weasleys in my charge were taken to Grimmauld Place by portkey. I left to Hogsmeade and Apparated here as soon as these events transpired."
It was Snape's turn to avoid Dumbledore's eyes as he turned to take the whistling silver kettle off the stove. "Perhaps the boy is showing promise in Divination, sir. It's about time he showed a proclivity toward something academic."
He desperately hoped his voice did not portray just how nervous he was. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the overly sweet odor coming from the mug in front of him.
He despised raspberry tea, but once when he imposed upon Dumbledore in quite a similar way, the older man had made some for them both because it was the only flavor he had at the time. Snape had lied and said it was his favorite in order to be polite, but had almost immediately regretted that decision because the next month, Dumbledore made a trip to India to meet with the Minister for Magic there and had come back with a gift of ten boxes of raspberry tea for Snape.
"That is not what this is about, Severus, and you know it," Dumbledore's voice had lost some of its patience and his eyes bored into Snape's as he took the cup from his hands.
"I don't understand, Professor. Voldemort is a skilled Legilimens, but I do not see a way he could have invaded Potter's dreams in such a vivid manner. It is outside of the practice's abilities," Snape said, taking a seat on the rarely used sofa. He did not like it; the cushions were too soft.
Dumbledore once again looked away. "He must have found a way. As you said, he is a skilled Legilimens."
"But, Professor," Snape rebutted, "The magic involved simply does not work like that. There must be some other explanation."
Dumbledore was looking anywhere but Snape. "Maybe so, Severus. But, he needs to be trained to protect himself from these dangers. If Voldemort has some kind of direct access to his mind, it could prove disastrous for him–and our whole cause."
Snape had a history of being roped by none other than Albus Dumbledore into involvement with certain tasks he would rather remain separate from. He was not an unintelligent man and could see the time for the question approaching in the conversation. Before he allowed it to be asked, though, he let out a perfunctory "no."
"You're not thinking clearly about this, Severus. I beg of you. This could be the difference between life and death for this boy–for the whole Order."
"No, you're not thinking clearly, Professor, if that is your arguing point. I do not care for the boy and I care little for the Order. And you most certainly are not thinking clearly if you believe for one second I will let that mongrel anywhere near my mind." Snape stood up and began walking to his front door and Dumbledore followed. "If you care so much, you should teach him yourself."
"You know I can't, Severus. He would become an even bigger target for the Ministry. And you are much more skilled at Legilimens than I am."
"Thank you for coming by, Professor, but I'm going to have to request you leave now." Snape opened his door and stepped out of Dumbledore's path, tried to avoid meeting his eyes.
"Is this somehow still about Lily? Because he wouldn't be able to find out. You know Lily would–," Dumbledore tried once again, but Snape did not let him finish and gestured with his arm one more time for Dumbledore to leave, which he did, albeit reluctantly.
Snape did not return to his study and Harry Potter's essay, but instead tossed the rest of his raspberry tea down the sink drain, dressed into his favorite nightgown and went to his bathroom to begin flossing.
He was halfway through his bottom teeth when there came the shadow of a mocking voice from behind him. One look revealed something Snape never wanted to see. Not here, not now. Definitely not like this, after he once again proved his cowardice.
There in his bathroom, standing–or was it floating–on the edge of the bathtub was Regulus Black. Or, more accurately, rather the echo of what was once Snape's old friend and confidant.
"Is this somehow about Lily?" Regulus repeated in the same mocking tone. "I swear, Dumbledore's lost his touch. When is it not something about Lily with you?"
"You–you're not here. You can't be here." Snape was having trouble accepting the new reality existing in his bathroom. "It does not work like this. None of it works like this. You were dead. You stayed dead. You did not become a ghost. I would know. I would know."
"You're right, I'm not a ghost. You're right, you would know if I was," Regulus said. "Wow, Severus, two in a row. What next?" He appeared to have taken a sitting position and crossed his legs in midair.
"How did you get here?" Snape's voice was still rather shaky, but he had regained enough composure to again begin flossing, which he would not do if his guest was not in ethereal form. He hoped the simple task would make this whole situation seem a little less outlandish.
"An order from Upstairs can go a long way. But that's the wrong question."
"I live in a townhouse. There's no one upstairs but myself. And very well, why are you here?" The last question was spoken around a few fingers and some string as Snape had finally reached his back molars.
"Not exactly the upstairs I meant. And that," he pointed in Snape's general direction, "is the right question. You just had the opportunity to add some sort of meaning to your life and, well, you blew it."
Snape rolled his eyes and sneered again, though that could have just been because he was now flossing his incisors. "How would helping that boy bring meaning to anything?"
Regulus stared at him. "You know that question is stupid. Supposedly the whole reason you didn't off yourself earlier was to protect him, Lily's child."
"James' child."
"Lily's child. Even I've heard how similar the two are." At this, Snape rolled his eyes again. "The point is, you're letting your feelings get in the way of that boy's safety and if Lily were here, she'd slap you. I'd slap you too if I could, but I can't so I'm going to settle for verbally abusing you, Snivellus."
Snape let out a shudder of a breath, then turned once again to the mirror, his back now to Regulus. "You never called me that in life. Don't start now."
"Don't deserve it now. Listen, that kid is never going to get good enough at this to access your memories. You don't have to worry about him knowing how noble you are and all that, if that's what you're worried about."
Snape did not say anything. He was done with his flossing now and instead stared at the rusted drain of the sink. After a few seconds of this, he shook his head. "I won't. I can't. For what Potter lacks in intelligence, he makes up for with dumb luck. I would not be able to stand being in his presence any longer if he knew the truth."
Regulus straightened up and said, "I was hoping I didn't have to do this."
In the next moment, the room became immersed in darkness, the only light a sickly green glow emitting from Regulus. His voice swelled to a roar that did not sound like his own. His arms raised and the air swirled again and again in a circle around the two men, whipping Snape's greasy hair in all directions. "YOU SHALL BE VISITED BY THREE SPIRITS. THE FIRST, WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES ONE." A single strike of a gong thundered through the room, driving Snape to his knees with his hands clasped over his ears and his eyes shut tight. Regulus simply grew louder. "THE SECOND, WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWO." At this, all the faucets spurted out what Snape could only hope was water and wind howled against the room's single window. "THE THIRD AND FINAL SPIRIT, WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES THREE."
The faucets stopped and the wind halted. The room was immersed in silence and as Snape opened his eyes, the lightbulb above the mirror flickered on once again. He peered up at his old friend who wore a look of such resignation, Snape wondered why he had tried to convince him at all.
Then in his normal voice, Regulus said, "This may be your last chance, my friend," and vanished.
Snape went to bed soon after and as he set his head down on his pillow he wished, for not the first time in his life, that he was not a wizard. For if he had been a muggle, he could have believed it was just a dream.