Disclaimer: all belongs to either JKR or Charles Dickens.
Title: A Hogwarts Christmas Carol
Summary: An AU and lonely Snape is visited by ghosts of his past on a dark and snowy Christmas Eve in Hogwarts
A/N: VERY AU. Snape is not dead, but Voldy is because… well, because he is. So ha. Also, Malfoy is slightly less of a butthead in this, because he got a personality transplant. He's still kind of an arse, but less so. Also also, 'ships are as follows: Neville/Luna, Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, hints of past-one-sided Snape/Lily, mentions of James/Lily, and other canon pairings.
COWRITTEN WITH DOWNSIDE-LEFT (my sister)
…
Prologue
Bellatrix Lestrange was dead, to begin with. Dead and rotting in her grave, un-mourned and forgotten by the masses.
It was Christmas Eve, 2005, and Hogwarts was bursting with Christmas cheer. Everyone who had stayed over break was roaming the halls, singing slightly drunken carols and preparing for the Feast.
Everyone, that is, except Professor Snape, the Potions Master.
Professor Snape had proven his worth in the Second War Against Voldemort, faking his own death in order to make Voldemort believe that he had won. This noble act of self-sacrifice and risk of life and limb had proven to even the most hard-core doubters that Snape had always (well, mostly) been on the side of Truth and Right and Justice.
However, if you asked his Professor's Aide, Neville Longbottom, you would get a slightly different story.
Now, Neville respected Snape. He respected the older man's knowledge, and his bravery and fortitude in the Wars. He also respected the fact that Harry Potter, a good and powerful friend of Neville's, would likely take it amiss if Neville hexed the pants off of Snape. Plus, then he would lose his job.
Neville was underpaid, overworked, and exhausted on the day that our story begins. As it was Christmas Eve, he was hoping to get home to his lovely wife Luna, and their twin sons Lorcan and Lysander, but Professor Snape was making him stay late, grading papers.
It was bitterly cold in the dungeons of Hogwarts, in spite of new Health Regulations stipulating that students were not permitted to get frostbite whilst inside the castle. The ink in Neville's quill kept freezing, and Snape always glared viciously if a Warming Charm was used.
Outside the dungeons, it was, in comparison, almost tropical, and a blast of heat accompanied anyone who passed through the forbidding door, as happened now.
Draco Malfoy, Snape's godson and the closest thing he had to a family, not that he particularly wanted any such thing, breezed into the room with a vague nod in Neville's sort-of direction, and said, "Happy Christmas, Snape!"
Snape looked at him coldly, raised an eyebrow and said, "Happy Christmas? Bah, humbug."
"What?" Malfoy asked, puzzled, and then said, "Never mind, I don't particularly care. I just wanted to let you know that Astoria has insisted on inviting you to our Christmas party this year. Again."
"And, again, I say 'humbug'," Snape snapped, turning back to his papers.
"I told her you'd say that," Malfoy sighed. "It's what you say every year. But, really, do reconsider. You're the only one who can make Scorpius shut up about the newest thing he found out in the garden this morning. Astoria thinks it's adorable, but it's driving me mad."
Snape rolled his eyes, and retorted, "It's not my job to keep your brat in line. If you're so desperate for him to shut up, bring your father around."
"I want him to be quiet and well-behaved, not traumatized and potentially dead," Malfoy huffed.
"Still, I'm not coming," Snape said without looking up.
"Of course," Malfoy sighed dramatically. "What is Christmas but a time for grading papers and making your students even more miserable?"
Neville bit back a snort of laughter.
"Christmas is just the same as any other day, if colder and darker than most," Snape snarled, glaring at his obnoxious godson. "You keep Christmas in your way, and let me keep it in mine."
"But you don't keep it; that's just the problem!"
"Then let me leave it alone, and leave me in peace for once."
Malfoy rolled his eyes and turned back towards the door. "Well, the offer still stands. Happy Christmas, Snape."
"Humbug!"
"Happy Christmas, Longbottom."
"Happy Christmas, Malfoy."
"And a Happy New Year!" Malfoy roared, slamming the door behind him, not quite drowning out Snape's loud "HUMBUG!"
Neville kept his eyes fixed studiously on the paper before him, pretending that he was deeply involved in whether or not First Year Derrick Flint was really as stupid as his paper made him out to be (Neville was leaning towards 'yes').
Snape glared at his Professor's Aide, and then snapped, "What time will you be here tomorrow?"
"Um," Neville said cleverly. "Tomorrow is… Christmas, Professor."
"So?"
"So… well, typically speaking, we don't work on Christmas. None of the other Professors will be working; and… well, it's just… not… done."
Snape said nothing. He merely continued to glare at Neville, one eyebrow raised. Neville flushed, and continued to stammer, "It's just that, well, you see, since nobody… I mean, even Headmistress McGonagall is… well, I just… you… and… when it's…. Um."
Snape heaved a disgusted sigh, and reluctantly said, "I suppose, if you must."
"Thank you, sir!"
"But be here all the earlier the next morning!" Snape snarled as Neville bolted for the door.
"Yessir, thank you sir, Happy Chri-… umm…. Thank you sir!" Neville stumbled as he tried not to make an even bigger idiot out of himself.
"Humbug," Snape muttered as his Aide left the dungeons. He gathered up his papers and left the dungeons himself, locking the door behind him. He set off down the corridor towards his rooms.
Now, one thing you must remember, is that Bellatrix Lestrange is dead. As dead as a doornail. If you forget this fact, nothing that follows will seem wondrous or strange.
When Snape reached the door to his rooms, he paused. For on his door in the place where his doorknocker usually was, was the face of Bellatrix Lestrange, leering at him.
"SNAPEY!" the knocker-Bellatrix screeched, and then vanished. Snape stared at the doorknocker, now returned to its normal size and shape. 'I'm just tired', he thought. 'It's nothing.' He stepped inside his rooms, glancing at the back of his door as he went. It was blank.
"Humbug," he muttered. He locked the door securely and continued through the office into his bedroom. He changed into his black pajamas and settled down by the fire to eat his beef stew.
For a while, all was quiet. Snape could hear the far-off rumblings of the staff and students in the Great Hall, thankfully muffled by the thick stone walls and floors of the rambling old castle.
TING!
Snape glared suspiciously at the clock on the mantelpiece. For one thing, it wasn't time for it to strike, as it was only 8:23. For another, Snape hated the chiming of the stupid thing, and he never kept it wound up.
He watched it for another few moments, and, when it did nothing, he turned back to his stew.
TING! TING! TINGTINGTING!
Snape pulled out his wand and blasted the clock off the mantelpiece.
BONG!
He vaulted up from his chair and snarled a curse at the old grandfather clock that had come with this set of rooms. It, too, exploded.
For a moment, the room was silent but for the sound of clock-bits gently clinking to the floor. Snape huffed a sigh, and sat back in his chair again.
TING! BONG! !
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?" Snape roared, leaping up from his chair again.
As he stared around the room, fighting off a hint of panic, a ghostly white figure burst through the door. Literally, through it.
It was not one of the ghosts who frequented the castle.
It was, in fact…
"SNAPEY!" Bellatrix Lestrange, dead these seven years, squalled with unholy glee. "How ya doin, you swotty little bastard?"
…
A/N: Here endeth the prologue. Coming up, well, the story!