Hello everyone! This is different; for me anyway! I had to do it for
English. The assignment was to write a Christmas story with a twist. Read,
review, and tell me what you think!!
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but the plant. And the plot. ;)
Bitter Christmas.
Snape sat in his office in the cold dungeons of Hogwarts castle. It was the Christmas holidays, most of the students had left for home. It was freezing outside, colder than usual for the time of year. The fire in his office crackled, but the heat was sapped by the coldness of the room almost immediately. Snape didn't mind that much. He was used to the cold. He was thinking. . .thinking of the days when he had attended Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, many years ago. . .
It was cold in the Slytherin common room. It always was, what with it being in the dungeons and all. Snape sat by himself next to the roaring fire that burnt in the grate. He was the only Slytherin pupil left, all the others had gone home, including his friends. Even Potter, Lupin and Black had gone, leaving him no-one to taunt, no entertainment.
The castle was empty and cold, full of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. His least favourite people. Ravenclaw were bearable, but they had all gone too. He was all by himself. He gazed round the empty common room dejectedly. There was point in staying. He stood up and grabbed his winter cloak, deciding to go outside, walk around the lake, maybe. He wandered out of the castle and down out into the grounds. The snow covered the grounds, creating a white, empty scene. Empty. He kept walking. Away from the castle, closer and closer to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He stopped at the edge of the Forest. He stared at the dark trees, the worn track that led into the Forest. . .sinister, daring him to go in. He shrugged. No-one was watching him. They were all in the hall, decorating the trees. He took the path into the Forest. The closeness of the tree made the path narrow and winding, but Snape stuck to it. He didn't want to get lost. Why was he there? Lack of anything to do? He wondered. Boredom? Daring? He didn't feel particularly enthralled by his sudden streak of rule breaking, but here he was. . .
The path branched. Snape took the left. It branched again, Snape took the left. He walked on, until, after about half and hour or so, he guessed, he reached a stream. It was only a small stream, one solitary ribbon of water breaking through the brown, dirt floor of the Forest. The snow hadn't made it through the maze of branches that fought for space to grow and put out leaves in the summer, so the ground was dry. Snape sat on the freezing ground and watched the water trickle past, serene, unaware. After a while he checked his watch. 11:30. He's better be getting back. And keep to the right, he told himself, as he set off.
Snape dragged himself back to the present. It had been a long time ago, his second year at Hogwarts. He wondered whether the stream was still there. It might have dried up by now. He thought about it, it's singing voice breaking the stern silence of the trees. Why not go and see? He asked himself. Lunch had passed, and no-one would notice his absence. He pulled his long winter cloak over his shoulders and left the lonely room. He left the fire, for all the good that it was. He walked up the corridors that led out of the castle, and began the walk that he had taken so many years ago. If he had been lonely then. . .he had had friends. Lucius Malfoy, Nott, Goyle, Crabbe (if you could count them. They hung round Lucius, to boulders, twice as many muscles as brains). . . and now? They had been through a lot, but since Snape turned spy for Dumbledore against Voldemort, while the others followed Voldemort's every word, Snape had felt strangely separate from the group. So he drifted. He wasn't good at making friends, and hadn't acquired any others since. On the whole he was a loner, not needing people around him like Lucius always had.
But sometimes. . .sometimes it would be nice, to have someone to laugh with, to talk to. Snape sighed. He had reached the edge of the Forest. He went in. It wasn't as overbearing as he remembered, but then again, he was taller now. He kept walking. He had felt the loneliness of his world at lunch, sitting at the head table with the other teachers. He watched the Gryffindor table where Potter and Weasley were playing fool. He didn't envy them, not now, but if he had been their age, he would have. Both of the boys hated Snape, and he hated them, but they had one power over him. They had friends. He did not.
He reached the first fork of the path. He went left. They were always told that it was dangerous in the Forest, and that they should never go in, hence its name. True, it was dangerous, what with werewolves, Hagrid's wretched spiders and so on, but if you kept to the path and paid attention, it wasn't that bad. It was quite pleasant, in fact. As he walked the frozen leaves from the Autumn crackled under his feet and his breath came out as huge billowing steam, water condensing in the air. Yet it was dry, the sun was shining weakly, though it didn't penetrate the tress any more than the snow had. It was dark, and some would say gloomy, but it was dry.
He reached the second fork. he turned left. He kept on walking. He didn't think of anything for a while, just enjoying the winter's air, the quiet of the Forest. After a while, he turned his thoughts to other things slightly more engaging than the weather, charming though it was.
Christmas took over his train of thought. It was Christmas that very day, not that it made ant difference in Snape's mood. If anything, it made it worse. He had never liked it, not even as a child. He had never held with religion, and didn't like to celebrate things that meant nothing. It seemed hypocritical, surely? Never the less, he had celebrated Christmas with his family, his Father and Mother, and sometimes, if misfortune prevailed, his Aunt. Empty. Empty of meaning, empty of soul. Presents? Was it really worth all the chuff, just to be landed with a heap of things that you didn't want, and a long list of thank you letters to account for? He had never thought so. He had, however, flat out refused to accept the concept of Santa Claus. A man coming down the chimney at night?! That was house breaking surely? Besides which, he was an over weight, elderly man, who seemed to drinking nothing but sherry, and eat nothing but mince pies, the perfect victim for heart disease! What if he dropped dead in your living room? You'd probably be accused of murdering the man!! He parents had argued with him over and over again about Father Christmas. You we're inviting him into your house, they had said. He gives you presents! He's. . .he's immortal! He won't die! Snape smiled wryly at the memory. He got away with it though, eventually.
He hated Christmas now. Not because of anything directly related to it, but the things that seemed to happen around that time. It was only ever around Christmas that he felt lonely, it was around Christmas that he turned spy for Dumbledore, and lost all his friends, it was around Christmas he parents were killed. . .
There it was! He'd reached the stream. It was a little larger than he remembered; he either had a faulty memory (which he doubted) or it had grown stronger. He watched it again, standing where he had stood at the age of thirteen. The water soothed the mind, calmed his thoughts. He thought about his parents.
They had been good people, although very into the Dark Arts. He remembered his seventh birthday present as being a book of dark spells. He had learnt them within two months.
They had been killed in a fire. He stopped himself. He didn't want to think about it.
He concentrated on the water, the light sparkling in the dim light. His thoughts wouldn't be contained, they wandered.
After his parents had been killed, he had had to go and live with an Aunt. She had been the bane of his life. She had a terrible memory and often forgot that he lived with her, especially when he was at Hogwarts. He spent half his life explaining to her that he lived there as well, that she was his guardian. And when she did remember, she made him work. House work, homework, shopping, anything that she didn't want to do. He had hated it.
The water soothed the mind. He watched it play, in and out of stone and branches that blocked the way, tossing leaves, not caring about anything. . .
"Here again after so long, Professor?" A voice broke gently into his thoughts.
Snape tore his eyes from the water and turned slowly. He hadn't wanted to be disturbed. The owner of the voice had, as he guessed, been that of a centaur. Half man, half horse, he stood at least a metre high than Snape.
"What do you mean?" asked Snape at last. How had this beast known?
"I saw you when you last came," said the centaur, sounding amused at Snape's hostile attitude.
"Oh." There wasn't much else to say. Snape turned back to the stream.
The centaur came out from the cover of the trees and stood by him. He was a blonde haired on both his head and lower body. Snape was reminded of Lucius hair when it had shone in the sunlight.
"My name is Firenze," it said introducing itself for the first time.
"Snape. Although, I presume you already know that?"
"No. I knew you must be a Professor up at the school though. No-one else ever dares enter the Forest."
Snape nodded. Dumbledore had let the herd colonise here, he supposed. Like the mermaids in the Lake.
"You look troubled?"
A statement in the guise of a question. Firenze was trying to put him at ease.
"Well there you go," he replied. Not a real answer to an equally unreal question. Ambiguity ruled. There was a silence as they both stared at the water dance.
They were both drowned, not in water but in thoughts.
What was Firenze thinking of? Snape wondered. None of your business, he answered himself sharply. He'd got involved in someone else's problems once before. Never again.
"Come with me," Firenze said, after some thought, and turned back down the path.
Snape hesitated, and then, for want of something better to do, followed. Firenze led him through a maze of trees, leaving the paths, heading for the heart of the Forest. Snape followed. Where were they going? He kept walking.
Finally, the came to a clearing.
As Firenze moved to one side, Snape saw what he was being shown.
The clearing was dark, and as far as Snape could see, perfectly circular. In the middle of the clearing was a small tree, half the size of the others in the Forest. Snape recognised it at once from an illustration he had seen in a book of Mythology. It was rare, so rare that it was widely believed to be a myth, a legend. It was the only one Snape had ever seen, and was ever likely to.
" Luminari," he gasped quietly. And it was. It had leaves as other trees did, but where as they took in light, it gave it. Luminary. It was fabled to give the beholder faith and knowledge, as well as giving off light.
Out of the corner of his eye, Snape saw Firenze give a small smile. They stood in a now companionable silence, watching the gently glowing green leaves. They gave off an eerie light; it made Firenze's hair shine an electric green.
Snape saw what he was being shown. The light.
Peace ruled.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but the plant. And the plot. ;)
Bitter Christmas.
Snape sat in his office in the cold dungeons of Hogwarts castle. It was the Christmas holidays, most of the students had left for home. It was freezing outside, colder than usual for the time of year. The fire in his office crackled, but the heat was sapped by the coldness of the room almost immediately. Snape didn't mind that much. He was used to the cold. He was thinking. . .thinking of the days when he had attended Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, many years ago. . .
It was cold in the Slytherin common room. It always was, what with it being in the dungeons and all. Snape sat by himself next to the roaring fire that burnt in the grate. He was the only Slytherin pupil left, all the others had gone home, including his friends. Even Potter, Lupin and Black had gone, leaving him no-one to taunt, no entertainment.
The castle was empty and cold, full of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. His least favourite people. Ravenclaw were bearable, but they had all gone too. He was all by himself. He gazed round the empty common room dejectedly. There was point in staying. He stood up and grabbed his winter cloak, deciding to go outside, walk around the lake, maybe. He wandered out of the castle and down out into the grounds. The snow covered the grounds, creating a white, empty scene. Empty. He kept walking. Away from the castle, closer and closer to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He stopped at the edge of the Forest. He stared at the dark trees, the worn track that led into the Forest. . .sinister, daring him to go in. He shrugged. No-one was watching him. They were all in the hall, decorating the trees. He took the path into the Forest. The closeness of the tree made the path narrow and winding, but Snape stuck to it. He didn't want to get lost. Why was he there? Lack of anything to do? He wondered. Boredom? Daring? He didn't feel particularly enthralled by his sudden streak of rule breaking, but here he was. . .
The path branched. Snape took the left. It branched again, Snape took the left. He walked on, until, after about half and hour or so, he guessed, he reached a stream. It was only a small stream, one solitary ribbon of water breaking through the brown, dirt floor of the Forest. The snow hadn't made it through the maze of branches that fought for space to grow and put out leaves in the summer, so the ground was dry. Snape sat on the freezing ground and watched the water trickle past, serene, unaware. After a while he checked his watch. 11:30. He's better be getting back. And keep to the right, he told himself, as he set off.
Snape dragged himself back to the present. It had been a long time ago, his second year at Hogwarts. He wondered whether the stream was still there. It might have dried up by now. He thought about it, it's singing voice breaking the stern silence of the trees. Why not go and see? He asked himself. Lunch had passed, and no-one would notice his absence. He pulled his long winter cloak over his shoulders and left the lonely room. He left the fire, for all the good that it was. He walked up the corridors that led out of the castle, and began the walk that he had taken so many years ago. If he had been lonely then. . .he had had friends. Lucius Malfoy, Nott, Goyle, Crabbe (if you could count them. They hung round Lucius, to boulders, twice as many muscles as brains). . . and now? They had been through a lot, but since Snape turned spy for Dumbledore against Voldemort, while the others followed Voldemort's every word, Snape had felt strangely separate from the group. So he drifted. He wasn't good at making friends, and hadn't acquired any others since. On the whole he was a loner, not needing people around him like Lucius always had.
But sometimes. . .sometimes it would be nice, to have someone to laugh with, to talk to. Snape sighed. He had reached the edge of the Forest. He went in. It wasn't as overbearing as he remembered, but then again, he was taller now. He kept walking. He had felt the loneliness of his world at lunch, sitting at the head table with the other teachers. He watched the Gryffindor table where Potter and Weasley were playing fool. He didn't envy them, not now, but if he had been their age, he would have. Both of the boys hated Snape, and he hated them, but they had one power over him. They had friends. He did not.
He reached the first fork of the path. He went left. They were always told that it was dangerous in the Forest, and that they should never go in, hence its name. True, it was dangerous, what with werewolves, Hagrid's wretched spiders and so on, but if you kept to the path and paid attention, it wasn't that bad. It was quite pleasant, in fact. As he walked the frozen leaves from the Autumn crackled under his feet and his breath came out as huge billowing steam, water condensing in the air. Yet it was dry, the sun was shining weakly, though it didn't penetrate the tress any more than the snow had. It was dark, and some would say gloomy, but it was dry.
He reached the second fork. he turned left. He kept on walking. He didn't think of anything for a while, just enjoying the winter's air, the quiet of the Forest. After a while, he turned his thoughts to other things slightly more engaging than the weather, charming though it was.
Christmas took over his train of thought. It was Christmas that very day, not that it made ant difference in Snape's mood. If anything, it made it worse. He had never liked it, not even as a child. He had never held with religion, and didn't like to celebrate things that meant nothing. It seemed hypocritical, surely? Never the less, he had celebrated Christmas with his family, his Father and Mother, and sometimes, if misfortune prevailed, his Aunt. Empty. Empty of meaning, empty of soul. Presents? Was it really worth all the chuff, just to be landed with a heap of things that you didn't want, and a long list of thank you letters to account for? He had never thought so. He had, however, flat out refused to accept the concept of Santa Claus. A man coming down the chimney at night?! That was house breaking surely? Besides which, he was an over weight, elderly man, who seemed to drinking nothing but sherry, and eat nothing but mince pies, the perfect victim for heart disease! What if he dropped dead in your living room? You'd probably be accused of murdering the man!! He parents had argued with him over and over again about Father Christmas. You we're inviting him into your house, they had said. He gives you presents! He's. . .he's immortal! He won't die! Snape smiled wryly at the memory. He got away with it though, eventually.
He hated Christmas now. Not because of anything directly related to it, but the things that seemed to happen around that time. It was only ever around Christmas that he felt lonely, it was around Christmas that he turned spy for Dumbledore, and lost all his friends, it was around Christmas he parents were killed. . .
There it was! He'd reached the stream. It was a little larger than he remembered; he either had a faulty memory (which he doubted) or it had grown stronger. He watched it again, standing where he had stood at the age of thirteen. The water soothed the mind, calmed his thoughts. He thought about his parents.
They had been good people, although very into the Dark Arts. He remembered his seventh birthday present as being a book of dark spells. He had learnt them within two months.
They had been killed in a fire. He stopped himself. He didn't want to think about it.
He concentrated on the water, the light sparkling in the dim light. His thoughts wouldn't be contained, they wandered.
After his parents had been killed, he had had to go and live with an Aunt. She had been the bane of his life. She had a terrible memory and often forgot that he lived with her, especially when he was at Hogwarts. He spent half his life explaining to her that he lived there as well, that she was his guardian. And when she did remember, she made him work. House work, homework, shopping, anything that she didn't want to do. He had hated it.
The water soothed the mind. He watched it play, in and out of stone and branches that blocked the way, tossing leaves, not caring about anything. . .
"Here again after so long, Professor?" A voice broke gently into his thoughts.
Snape tore his eyes from the water and turned slowly. He hadn't wanted to be disturbed. The owner of the voice had, as he guessed, been that of a centaur. Half man, half horse, he stood at least a metre high than Snape.
"What do you mean?" asked Snape at last. How had this beast known?
"I saw you when you last came," said the centaur, sounding amused at Snape's hostile attitude.
"Oh." There wasn't much else to say. Snape turned back to the stream.
The centaur came out from the cover of the trees and stood by him. He was a blonde haired on both his head and lower body. Snape was reminded of Lucius hair when it had shone in the sunlight.
"My name is Firenze," it said introducing itself for the first time.
"Snape. Although, I presume you already know that?"
"No. I knew you must be a Professor up at the school though. No-one else ever dares enter the Forest."
Snape nodded. Dumbledore had let the herd colonise here, he supposed. Like the mermaids in the Lake.
"You look troubled?"
A statement in the guise of a question. Firenze was trying to put him at ease.
"Well there you go," he replied. Not a real answer to an equally unreal question. Ambiguity ruled. There was a silence as they both stared at the water dance.
They were both drowned, not in water but in thoughts.
What was Firenze thinking of? Snape wondered. None of your business, he answered himself sharply. He'd got involved in someone else's problems once before. Never again.
"Come with me," Firenze said, after some thought, and turned back down the path.
Snape hesitated, and then, for want of something better to do, followed. Firenze led him through a maze of trees, leaving the paths, heading for the heart of the Forest. Snape followed. Where were they going? He kept walking.
Finally, the came to a clearing.
As Firenze moved to one side, Snape saw what he was being shown.
The clearing was dark, and as far as Snape could see, perfectly circular. In the middle of the clearing was a small tree, half the size of the others in the Forest. Snape recognised it at once from an illustration he had seen in a book of Mythology. It was rare, so rare that it was widely believed to be a myth, a legend. It was the only one Snape had ever seen, and was ever likely to.
" Luminari," he gasped quietly. And it was. It had leaves as other trees did, but where as they took in light, it gave it. Luminary. It was fabled to give the beholder faith and knowledge, as well as giving off light.
Out of the corner of his eye, Snape saw Firenze give a small smile. They stood in a now companionable silence, watching the gently glowing green leaves. They gave off an eerie light; it made Firenze's hair shine an electric green.
Snape saw what he was being shown. The light.
Peace ruled.