Disclaimer- Obviously, the original plot of "A Christmas Carol" belongs to Charles Dickens. And even more obviously, everything HP is J.K Rowling's.
"Mr. Longbottom! Do you mean to tell me that you cannot even remember the ingredients to a simple Sleeping Potion? Ten points from Gryffindor!"
Neville trembled and looked towards Hermione as though she was a lifeboat; salvation only inches away. She rushed over. "Please, Professor, don't take the points from Gryffindor! It's almost Christmas, and-"
"Do you think I care?" Snarled Snape, looking as evil as ever. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor, and detention for you, Longbottom!"
"But, Professor-"
"Do you want it to be twenty and detentions for all of you?"
Hermione fell silent and returned to her cauldron, lips drawn into a tight, angry, pucker. Snape had been worse than ever lately, probably from everyone using the Christmas season as an excuse for getting out of his punishments. A knock came at the door, and Snape answered it bad-temperedly. "What?"
He was practically assaulted with a group of eager-looking first years singing Christmas carols. "Deck the halls with boughs of holly, Falalalala, lalalala!" They handed him a basket of fresh-baked cookies and yelled "Merry Christmas, Professor!"
Snape held the basket as though it were filled with toxic sludge. "And to what do I owe this...pleasure?"
Lupin's face poked around the door. "I just thought we'd make some rounds of the school and spread some holiday cheer, Severus."
Snape's face turned red with anger and he threw the cookies back at Lupin and his group of first years. "OUT! OUT OF MY CLASSROOM! DON'T COME BACK!" They scattered back up into the main school, ushered along by Professor Lupin. He turned back and faced Snape.
"I should have thought you'd be cheerful, at least for Christmas."
"Remus, if I had my way, every idiot who went about spewing Christmas carols and baking cookies would have his own wand turned on him and be hung from Mr. Filch's ceiling by his wrists. Now, if you would kindly remove yourself from my dungeons, I'd be eternally grateful." Before Lupin could say another word, the heavy metal door of the classroom was slammed shut and Snape had whirled on the class. "Well? What are you all gaping at? The arrival of human canaries at the door doesn't excuse you from work. Now continue chopping your tubewort. NOW!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That night, after all the classes had finished, Snape trudged sourly up to his office. Taking his key from his pocket, he looked at the door. His ornate doorknocker transformed itself into the face of Lucius Malfoy. "Snaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaape!"
He stumbled backwards, crying out at the strange apparation. What was this? Malfoy was dead, dead to begin with! Voldemort had killed him the past summer for "disloyalty"...
Snape walked curiously back towards the door. He reached up his hand to the solid metal and felt it. Cold and lifeless as ever, just as he liked it. And so, he entered into his little dwelling.
To say Snape was not startled would be untrue. Before climbing into his bed, he checked every nook and cranny of his office with wand outstretched and teeth bared. Nothing unusual or suspicious met his senses, so he crept into bed and blew out the candle.
Lucius Malfoyu was dead to begin with. This one thing you must remember, or nothing that follows will seem wondrous.
From within the dark room, made darker by his closed eyes, Snape heard dull, clanking footfalls, as those of a knight in dingy armor. He again bared his teeth and glared out from under his blankets. It was pitch black, but that sound...it didn't stop! What was it? "Show yourself!" He called, his voice betraying fear.
Instantaneously, in front of him, there materialized a tall, gray-eyed man with shoulders hunched over and head hanging wearily. But this did not make him extraordinary. He was a silvery light blue color, and hovering three inches above the ground. About his shoulders and locked round his neck, ankles, wrists, knees, and head were chains. Heavy, iron chains that weighted down not only his wretched form, but his slippery voice. "Severus."
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"In life, I was your cohort, Lucius Malfoy. Do you remember? Can you recall the horrible deeds I did?"
"You were bewitched, Lucius! The imperius curse was used liberally on you!"
He chuckled with a sound of grating stone. "Still fooling yourself, Severus? Still denying the truth? If the Dark Lord had really always used the Imperius curse on me, would I...would I...WOULD I???"
"Would you what? Why are you crying?"
"The chain, Severus! The chain, the infernal chain! Would I be wearing this horrible burden of a chain if I had never had any choice in my Muggle-torturing? What do you think?"
His voice shook as he realized what this spirit was saying. "No, Lucius...no."
"Of course not, you fool! You-"
"Please, why have you come back to haunt me?"
"You wouldn't realize...not if I hadn't come! You would have never understood the consequences if the fates hadn't been so kind as to send me back to spare your already-filthy soul! You wear a chain like this, already it is longer than mine. Severus, listen closely to me: you will be haunted by three spirits tonight!"
"Haunted?" he cried. "Haven't I had about enough of that?"
"Expect the first spirit when the bell tolls one!"
"Can't I have them all at once and get it over with?"
His apparation was fading quickly and, apparently, painfully. "When the bell tolls one, Severus!"
Snape found himself on the edge of his bed, trembling with eyes wide as saucers. Had this really happened? Was it all a dream, a horrible dream? Lucius Malfoy in chains! "No," he said under his breath. "No, it was false. Indigestion, maybe...perhaps I've come down with a flu." With this, he climbed into bed again and fell into a fitful sleep.
The old grandfather clock outside his door awoke him next.
DING
One o'clock, he thought. No spirit. Wait, what am I even- this is ridiculous! So he thought, until a blinding light exploded right at his bedside. When he regained his vision, he saw before him the form of Hermione Granger!
"Miss Granger!" he shouted, gathering his blankets around him. "Pray tell what you think you are doing in my office!"
"Severus, I am not Hermione Granger, but her spirit." the girl looked down at the stack of books she was carrying.
"What business brings you here, then?"
"Your welfare."
He snorted. "A night's sleep might aid my welfare."
"Your salvation, then. I am the spirit of Christmas Past. Come with me, we will see the Christmases you have known." She opened an old, gray volume and smoothed the page lovingly. "Come, this could be your only chance, Severus."
Wrapping a bathrobe quickly around himself, Snape walked over to the side of this girl and looked down to the book as she was. Suddenly, it felt as though his body was caught in a very strong whirlpool, spiraling downwards for an eternity. Though he screamed as the colors swirled, his voice was torn from his lips with the inertia of his flight.
The next sensation he felt was being deposited rather roughly onto a lumpy couch in a warm room. "Spirit? Where are we?"
The girl who looked so much like Hermione floated gracefully downwards and sat next to him on the couch. "You don't recognize this place? Oh, you wouldn't. You hardly ever saw it. At least, not when it mattered."
The sound of a baby crying rent the air, and a woman with hawklike black eyes entered. She picked up a small bundle from a cradle and carried it out of the room. It took Snape a few moments to realize that it was a baby. It took him only about five seconds more to realize, with a shock, that this was his house, where he had grown up. Or, at least, for the first few years of his life. And that the baby was him. "You see, Severus," continued the spirit. "it was hard for your mother to raise you alone. Your father left to follow Grindelwald when you were born, though I don't believe you were ever told. He died when Grindelwald was defeated."
He shook his head, not wanting to believe it. "My father died before I was even born, FIGHTING Grindelwald."
"No, Severus. It's in the books," she gestured towards her packages. "Please don't deny this. Makes our job a lot harder, I must say. Your mother couldn't afford any gifts, could she?"
He shook his head again, numbly.
"You never realized how hard she worked. It was a struggle to simply get you through your first ten years. Have you ever realized that your mother prayed that you had turned out a Squib? She even was about to burn your letter from Hogwarts, but couldn't bring herself to do it."
The scene in front of him took off like a tape on fast forward. Images blurred together and his house aged. Windows broke and fabric wore thin before his very eyes. Under his hand, the armrest of the couch ripped open and stuffing swelled out.
That same fierce-eyed woman, now with hollow cheeks and loose skin, walked into the house. She seemed to sweep in coldness and grief, and she veritably jumped out of her skin when an owl banged against the window. She scanned it, murmuring quickly under her breath, "'Dear mother, sorry I can't come home for Christmas this year... James and his cronies haven't stopped teasing me, and Sirius Black tried to get me killed, I think...please write back soon, love severus." She didn't let anything show in her face, but heartbreak shattered in her eyes like broken ice.
"You see, Severus?" The spirit's voice, though gentle, seemed interruptive. "Your mother cared, she just didn't want to let it show." Again, she opened that book, to a different page this time. "This might hurt."
"Not the whirlpool again!"
"Not that kind of hurt, Severus." She reached out and touched where his heart was. "This kind."
Then, the colors melted and swirled again.
When the world fell back into place, Severus felt a bucketful of ice water fill his stomach. They were standing on the thick green rug of a firelit room, and before them was...him, sitting on a couch. Younger, more handsome, but most obviously, happier. And in his arms-
And in his arms-
And in his arms was a beautiful witch. The younger Severus stared into the fire with love in his eyes as he stroked her hair tenderly. There was no repulsion, no distance, either physical or emotional. They seemed to be one soul.
"Because she hadn't told me yet," he spat bitterly. "Because Selene didn't tell me she was Voldemort's half-sister until after Tommy was born."
The spirit had apparently abandoned her books. She looked sadly at the younger Snape and his wife, Selene, and shook her head. "Why did you leave, Severus? How could you leave this?"
He whipped his tear-filled gaze at her and spoke as though he would speak to an errant student. "You bring me to the hardest thing in the world for me to see and then ask me how I could leave when you know perfectly well! Have you no compassion?"
"Did you say something, O Humanitarian of the Year?"
This only caused another tear to roll down his cheek. "I-I...I left because I couldn't stay. I didn't want to be a double agent anymore, it felt too dishonest..." His voice took on a desperate tone, as though trying to find justification for his deed of the past. "How could I have brought them with me to Dumbledore's side? He wouldn't have accepted them!"
"Selene and Tommy would have followed you to the ends of the Earth. You know that. Now all you have to do is accept it. Maybe this will convince you."
"NO! I don't want to be convinced of my guilt!"
She raised her voice until it overrode his. "You must, Severus! You must know, or no lessons can be drawn from this pain!" She turned to the scene before her and picked up a book, about to open it. Then she paused. "Look, Severus. Look and listen for just a few more seconds."
He stared at the happy picture with a look on his face as though it was burning his eyes out. His younger self ceased stroking Selene's hair and took her face in his hands. "Merry Christmas."
Selene merely smiled and said, "I love you so."
They kissed, and Severus remembered it. He remembered it so forcefully and so painfully that he had to sit down and face the wall, tears leaking through his hands as they clenched over his face. His misery lasted and lasted, and then he felt the ethereal touch of the spirit's hand on his shoulder. "Severus. Something else must be seen."
"No more," he sobbed. "No more!"
Instead of the tissue-paper touch and the gentle voice, he now felt a hand as strong as a vicegrip grab his shoulder and wrench him up. The spirit once again smiled. "I got some help from the next spirit on that one. Look."
He looked back at the living room. It was still warm and homey, but now there was a large Christmas tree in the corner and brightly wrapped gifts underneath it. A two-year-old boy in pajamas toddled down the hallway, closely followed by Selene and the younger Severus. The little boy jogged the last few steps and fell on his tiny bottom right in front of the tree.
"Oh, no. No no no no." Severus was whispering, unable to tear his eyes away. "Not Tommy. No."
"I'll skip ahead a bit so you don't have to see so much." There was true worry in the Spirit's eyes as she offered.
"No, it's...the last time I'll see him. Let me be for now." This Christmas day that he remembered so well played out in front of him. This younger Severus was happily playing with his child and wife, but seemed strangely distant from them, as though there was something he knew about them that he didn't want to.
"You remember. Selene told you about her relation to Lord Voldemort, and it was never the same after that, was it?"
He didn't answer. It was too dangerous to speak. To speak was to cry when the emotion was this intense. The spirit spoke again. "Here it is. This is what I wanted you to see."
Tommy's pudgy little hands opened a big package, and when he extracted a toy broomstick from it, his eyes shone with happiness. He leaped up to his unsteady feet and ran to his father, hugging him with all his might. "Thank you daddy, thank you thank you thank you! I love you daddy! Thank you!"
There was still that distance, even though Severus was returning every hug and looked every bit as happy as his son.
The spirit gathered up her books guiltily and turned to the older Severus. "I'm sorry," her voice echoed with a ghostly quality as the scene faded into blackness.
"Mr. Longbottom! Do you mean to tell me that you cannot even remember the ingredients to a simple Sleeping Potion? Ten points from Gryffindor!"
Neville trembled and looked towards Hermione as though she was a lifeboat; salvation only inches away. She rushed over. "Please, Professor, don't take the points from Gryffindor! It's almost Christmas, and-"
"Do you think I care?" Snarled Snape, looking as evil as ever. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor, and detention for you, Longbottom!"
"But, Professor-"
"Do you want it to be twenty and detentions for all of you?"
Hermione fell silent and returned to her cauldron, lips drawn into a tight, angry, pucker. Snape had been worse than ever lately, probably from everyone using the Christmas season as an excuse for getting out of his punishments. A knock came at the door, and Snape answered it bad-temperedly. "What?"
He was practically assaulted with a group of eager-looking first years singing Christmas carols. "Deck the halls with boughs of holly, Falalalala, lalalala!" They handed him a basket of fresh-baked cookies and yelled "Merry Christmas, Professor!"
Snape held the basket as though it were filled with toxic sludge. "And to what do I owe this...pleasure?"
Lupin's face poked around the door. "I just thought we'd make some rounds of the school and spread some holiday cheer, Severus."
Snape's face turned red with anger and he threw the cookies back at Lupin and his group of first years. "OUT! OUT OF MY CLASSROOM! DON'T COME BACK!" They scattered back up into the main school, ushered along by Professor Lupin. He turned back and faced Snape.
"I should have thought you'd be cheerful, at least for Christmas."
"Remus, if I had my way, every idiot who went about spewing Christmas carols and baking cookies would have his own wand turned on him and be hung from Mr. Filch's ceiling by his wrists. Now, if you would kindly remove yourself from my dungeons, I'd be eternally grateful." Before Lupin could say another word, the heavy metal door of the classroom was slammed shut and Snape had whirled on the class. "Well? What are you all gaping at? The arrival of human canaries at the door doesn't excuse you from work. Now continue chopping your tubewort. NOW!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That night, after all the classes had finished, Snape trudged sourly up to his office. Taking his key from his pocket, he looked at the door. His ornate doorknocker transformed itself into the face of Lucius Malfoy. "Snaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaape!"
He stumbled backwards, crying out at the strange apparation. What was this? Malfoy was dead, dead to begin with! Voldemort had killed him the past summer for "disloyalty"...
Snape walked curiously back towards the door. He reached up his hand to the solid metal and felt it. Cold and lifeless as ever, just as he liked it. And so, he entered into his little dwelling.
To say Snape was not startled would be untrue. Before climbing into his bed, he checked every nook and cranny of his office with wand outstretched and teeth bared. Nothing unusual or suspicious met his senses, so he crept into bed and blew out the candle.
Lucius Malfoyu was dead to begin with. This one thing you must remember, or nothing that follows will seem wondrous.
From within the dark room, made darker by his closed eyes, Snape heard dull, clanking footfalls, as those of a knight in dingy armor. He again bared his teeth and glared out from under his blankets. It was pitch black, but that sound...it didn't stop! What was it? "Show yourself!" He called, his voice betraying fear.
Instantaneously, in front of him, there materialized a tall, gray-eyed man with shoulders hunched over and head hanging wearily. But this did not make him extraordinary. He was a silvery light blue color, and hovering three inches above the ground. About his shoulders and locked round his neck, ankles, wrists, knees, and head were chains. Heavy, iron chains that weighted down not only his wretched form, but his slippery voice. "Severus."
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"In life, I was your cohort, Lucius Malfoy. Do you remember? Can you recall the horrible deeds I did?"
"You were bewitched, Lucius! The imperius curse was used liberally on you!"
He chuckled with a sound of grating stone. "Still fooling yourself, Severus? Still denying the truth? If the Dark Lord had really always used the Imperius curse on me, would I...would I...WOULD I???"
"Would you what? Why are you crying?"
"The chain, Severus! The chain, the infernal chain! Would I be wearing this horrible burden of a chain if I had never had any choice in my Muggle-torturing? What do you think?"
His voice shook as he realized what this spirit was saying. "No, Lucius...no."
"Of course not, you fool! You-"
"Please, why have you come back to haunt me?"
"You wouldn't realize...not if I hadn't come! You would have never understood the consequences if the fates hadn't been so kind as to send me back to spare your already-filthy soul! You wear a chain like this, already it is longer than mine. Severus, listen closely to me: you will be haunted by three spirits tonight!"
"Haunted?" he cried. "Haven't I had about enough of that?"
"Expect the first spirit when the bell tolls one!"
"Can't I have them all at once and get it over with?"
His apparation was fading quickly and, apparently, painfully. "When the bell tolls one, Severus!"
Snape found himself on the edge of his bed, trembling with eyes wide as saucers. Had this really happened? Was it all a dream, a horrible dream? Lucius Malfoy in chains! "No," he said under his breath. "No, it was false. Indigestion, maybe...perhaps I've come down with a flu." With this, he climbed into bed again and fell into a fitful sleep.
The old grandfather clock outside his door awoke him next.
DING
One o'clock, he thought. No spirit. Wait, what am I even- this is ridiculous! So he thought, until a blinding light exploded right at his bedside. When he regained his vision, he saw before him the form of Hermione Granger!
"Miss Granger!" he shouted, gathering his blankets around him. "Pray tell what you think you are doing in my office!"
"Severus, I am not Hermione Granger, but her spirit." the girl looked down at the stack of books she was carrying.
"What business brings you here, then?"
"Your welfare."
He snorted. "A night's sleep might aid my welfare."
"Your salvation, then. I am the spirit of Christmas Past. Come with me, we will see the Christmases you have known." She opened an old, gray volume and smoothed the page lovingly. "Come, this could be your only chance, Severus."
Wrapping a bathrobe quickly around himself, Snape walked over to the side of this girl and looked down to the book as she was. Suddenly, it felt as though his body was caught in a very strong whirlpool, spiraling downwards for an eternity. Though he screamed as the colors swirled, his voice was torn from his lips with the inertia of his flight.
The next sensation he felt was being deposited rather roughly onto a lumpy couch in a warm room. "Spirit? Where are we?"
The girl who looked so much like Hermione floated gracefully downwards and sat next to him on the couch. "You don't recognize this place? Oh, you wouldn't. You hardly ever saw it. At least, not when it mattered."
The sound of a baby crying rent the air, and a woman with hawklike black eyes entered. She picked up a small bundle from a cradle and carried it out of the room. It took Snape a few moments to realize that it was a baby. It took him only about five seconds more to realize, with a shock, that this was his house, where he had grown up. Or, at least, for the first few years of his life. And that the baby was him. "You see, Severus," continued the spirit. "it was hard for your mother to raise you alone. Your father left to follow Grindelwald when you were born, though I don't believe you were ever told. He died when Grindelwald was defeated."
He shook his head, not wanting to believe it. "My father died before I was even born, FIGHTING Grindelwald."
"No, Severus. It's in the books," she gestured towards her packages. "Please don't deny this. Makes our job a lot harder, I must say. Your mother couldn't afford any gifts, could she?"
He shook his head again, numbly.
"You never realized how hard she worked. It was a struggle to simply get you through your first ten years. Have you ever realized that your mother prayed that you had turned out a Squib? She even was about to burn your letter from Hogwarts, but couldn't bring herself to do it."
The scene in front of him took off like a tape on fast forward. Images blurred together and his house aged. Windows broke and fabric wore thin before his very eyes. Under his hand, the armrest of the couch ripped open and stuffing swelled out.
That same fierce-eyed woman, now with hollow cheeks and loose skin, walked into the house. She seemed to sweep in coldness and grief, and she veritably jumped out of her skin when an owl banged against the window. She scanned it, murmuring quickly under her breath, "'Dear mother, sorry I can't come home for Christmas this year... James and his cronies haven't stopped teasing me, and Sirius Black tried to get me killed, I think...please write back soon, love severus." She didn't let anything show in her face, but heartbreak shattered in her eyes like broken ice.
"You see, Severus?" The spirit's voice, though gentle, seemed interruptive. "Your mother cared, she just didn't want to let it show." Again, she opened that book, to a different page this time. "This might hurt."
"Not the whirlpool again!"
"Not that kind of hurt, Severus." She reached out and touched where his heart was. "This kind."
Then, the colors melted and swirled again.
When the world fell back into place, Severus felt a bucketful of ice water fill his stomach. They were standing on the thick green rug of a firelit room, and before them was...him, sitting on a couch. Younger, more handsome, but most obviously, happier. And in his arms-
And in his arms-
And in his arms was a beautiful witch. The younger Severus stared into the fire with love in his eyes as he stroked her hair tenderly. There was no repulsion, no distance, either physical or emotional. They seemed to be one soul.
"Because she hadn't told me yet," he spat bitterly. "Because Selene didn't tell me she was Voldemort's half-sister until after Tommy was born."
The spirit had apparently abandoned her books. She looked sadly at the younger Snape and his wife, Selene, and shook her head. "Why did you leave, Severus? How could you leave this?"
He whipped his tear-filled gaze at her and spoke as though he would speak to an errant student. "You bring me to the hardest thing in the world for me to see and then ask me how I could leave when you know perfectly well! Have you no compassion?"
"Did you say something, O Humanitarian of the Year?"
This only caused another tear to roll down his cheek. "I-I...I left because I couldn't stay. I didn't want to be a double agent anymore, it felt too dishonest..." His voice took on a desperate tone, as though trying to find justification for his deed of the past. "How could I have brought them with me to Dumbledore's side? He wouldn't have accepted them!"
"Selene and Tommy would have followed you to the ends of the Earth. You know that. Now all you have to do is accept it. Maybe this will convince you."
"NO! I don't want to be convinced of my guilt!"
She raised her voice until it overrode his. "You must, Severus! You must know, or no lessons can be drawn from this pain!" She turned to the scene before her and picked up a book, about to open it. Then she paused. "Look, Severus. Look and listen for just a few more seconds."
He stared at the happy picture with a look on his face as though it was burning his eyes out. His younger self ceased stroking Selene's hair and took her face in his hands. "Merry Christmas."
Selene merely smiled and said, "I love you so."
They kissed, and Severus remembered it. He remembered it so forcefully and so painfully that he had to sit down and face the wall, tears leaking through his hands as they clenched over his face. His misery lasted and lasted, and then he felt the ethereal touch of the spirit's hand on his shoulder. "Severus. Something else must be seen."
"No more," he sobbed. "No more!"
Instead of the tissue-paper touch and the gentle voice, he now felt a hand as strong as a vicegrip grab his shoulder and wrench him up. The spirit once again smiled. "I got some help from the next spirit on that one. Look."
He looked back at the living room. It was still warm and homey, but now there was a large Christmas tree in the corner and brightly wrapped gifts underneath it. A two-year-old boy in pajamas toddled down the hallway, closely followed by Selene and the younger Severus. The little boy jogged the last few steps and fell on his tiny bottom right in front of the tree.
"Oh, no. No no no no." Severus was whispering, unable to tear his eyes away. "Not Tommy. No."
"I'll skip ahead a bit so you don't have to see so much." There was true worry in the Spirit's eyes as she offered.
"No, it's...the last time I'll see him. Let me be for now." This Christmas day that he remembered so well played out in front of him. This younger Severus was happily playing with his child and wife, but seemed strangely distant from them, as though there was something he knew about them that he didn't want to.
"You remember. Selene told you about her relation to Lord Voldemort, and it was never the same after that, was it?"
He didn't answer. It was too dangerous to speak. To speak was to cry when the emotion was this intense. The spirit spoke again. "Here it is. This is what I wanted you to see."
Tommy's pudgy little hands opened a big package, and when he extracted a toy broomstick from it, his eyes shone with happiness. He leaped up to his unsteady feet and ran to his father, hugging him with all his might. "Thank you daddy, thank you thank you thank you! I love you daddy! Thank you!"
There was still that distance, even though Severus was returning every hug and looked every bit as happy as his son.
The spirit gathered up her books guiltily and turned to the older Severus. "I'm sorry," her voice echoed with a ghostly quality as the scene faded into blackness.