Scrooged
Part One
By Lily Potter
A/N: Hello! This is a Christmas story, just because I felt like writing one. Happy Boxing day, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, Happy Kwanzaa, and if your atheist, happy New Year!
Disclaimer: I don't think I own anybody here, so everything is J.K's.
Snape hated Christmas. Everything about it. When he was younger, oh yes, the gifts were good, but as he grew older the number had dwindled down to three. An expensive book from Malfoy, and one from Fred and George Weasley each: a box of chocolate covered slugs, and a bottle of shampoo, both of which had a cheery red and green bow attached to them. He suspected, however, that the shampoo had a muggle hair dye in it, being that the shampoo was a suspicious shade of neon orange. He wasn't quite sure, however, being that he hadn't washed his hair since 1986, so he didn't know what color shampoo was now a days. Perhaps it was orange.
But this Christmas was going to be great. As a surprise going away before Christmas break present, the Weasley twins dropped a dungbomb so big, the whole school had to be evacuated except for the staff. So it was going to be a nice, quiet, Christmas, without-Potter.
Potter. Like father like son. Pigheaded, no talent, arrogant Potter. Dumbledore's favorite. Oh, how Snape hated Potter. It was good riddance when his father died, and Snape half wished his son had joined him. It would have made his life easier.
That was all right. Potter went home, and Snape was happy. He didn't understand what the big thing about Christmas was, anyway. It was just like any other day. He wholeheartedly agreed with that wonderful character in the horrible novel-Scrooge. He was great until those stupid ghosts changed him. What right did they have, poking their noses into his affairs, anyway?
Christmas was a humbug. A bah humbug, to be exact. And, almost as if to prove it to the world, Snape assigned 205.5 pages of homework, and 7 essays. Each essay had to be ten pages or more. Even Granger had looked disappointed. Snape smiled what could only be an "evil leer." That would keep them off the streets.
So now, on the night before Christmas, nothing stirred, except for Snape who was dozing.
"Ohhh...Ohhh..."
An unearthly howling filled the room, and Snape's hair stood on end. He quickly broke out of his doze. However, something pearly white appeared from out of a wall, making a clanking sound. Snape was reassured. It was only the Bloody Baron, after a run-in with Peeves...until...
"Twas the night before Christmas,
all through Slytherin house,
not a creature was stirring,
except for one louse."
The voice sounded horribly like...but it couldn't be. Then, Snape realized to late, the Bloody Baron DIDN'T have run-ins with Peeves. Peeves respected him...
The pearly white figure came sharply into focus, to reveal a grinning replica of Snape's age-old enemy...James Potter.
The ghost seemed to realize it wasn't being very ghostly, because he stopped grinning and resumed howling. The clanking noise came from a chain the ghost was holding.
"Snape...Snape...It is I, your friend, your partner at Hog-"
"Don't even say it," snapped Snape. "You know it's a lie."
However bravely he had said it, the fact of the matter was, Snape was halfway up the curtains. Literally.
"So much for the Marley act," said the ghost jovially. Snape scowled at him. "Oh fine, you greasy haired slimeball."
There was no doubt about it, it was definitely James Potter.
"I'm doing you a favor, you know," the ghost continued.
"What favors have you ever done for me?"
"Well, saving your life, for one..."
"Shut up," said Snape, sounding very much like a twelve year old.
"ANYWAY, " said Potter, picking up the chain he was holding and toying with it, "you sir, are a grump of unusual proportions. This chain," he picked up said object, "is the chain you have forged in your life time. Look at it. For if you do not take back your actions you will be doomed to walk the Earth for eternity wearing it."
James put the chain on Snape, who staggered under its weight. Attached to the Chain were all the unjust detention slips and horrible essays, the seven that he had given over Christmas were the heaviest of all.
"To save you from this fate, three spirits will visit you tonight. Heed them, for if you do not, you are doomed!"
Snape wondered what he had eaten at dinner that made him have a strange dream about the ghost of James Potter saying words like "heed." Perhaps the Weasley twins had hexed it.
"The first spirit will come at one, the second at two, and the third at three. Heed them," he said again. "Oh, I love that word! Especially since it seems to bother you! HEED HEED HEED!" The ghost laughed. "I leave you now, Maggot face." James glowed white, a pair of wings sprouted, and Snape's chain was lifted. Then he disappeared.
"Bah, Humbug," Said Snape as he climbed into bed.
Snape was awoken by light. Too much light. So much light it hurt his eyes, even though they were closed. Ugh. He rolled over to face a glowing-well, he wasn't sure quite what it was, but it sure was glowing. He rolled over and tried to get back to sleep, tried to ward off all that stupid glowing. Bright light again, and his eyes were being forced open. The light lessened and a face came into view. A face that looked vaguely familiar. Who was it? Snape knew. It was old Professor Dippet, Dumbledore had a picture of him in his office. (A/N: To all of you who say that Dippet was headmaster when Lily, James, and Snape were around you are wrong. I believe it is Lupin who said that Dumbledore was the only headmaster who would let a werewolf into Hogwarts. Signing off...) Why was he here and WHAT was he doing in Snape's bedroom? This doesn't have something to do with that stupid dream he had about Potter, does it?
The ghostly figure gestured toward him impatiently and said, "Look at this lump, once said to be the greatest potions maker in the world, ready to believe anything or everything, and now look at him. Dead as a doornail. Well, not exactly dead, but acting like it. A worthless lump of nothing. Wouldn't believe in a simple ghost like James Potter. Probably wouldn't believe in a Philosopher's Stone."
"I believe," said Snape, in a tone that would have left Neville Longbottom on the floor in a coma, "that when I believed in everything, was when I was at school, being that if I didn't, Potter and his friends would have me dead on the floor. I would thank you if you stayed out of my business."
"MANKIND SHOULD BE YOUR BUSINESS!" The ghost bellowed. He calmed himself down. "I can see there is no other way. I am the ghost of Christmas Past, and well, you shall see from there. Grab my cloak."
Snape was rather forced to, being that it was thrown at him. With a swish of Dippet's cloak, they were gone.
The first place they stopped at seemed to be a happy place, full of gaiety and laughter. A woman with red hair and a man with black sat playing with a baby, who was holding a Christmas tree ornament. Every so often the ornament would spray a shower of red and green sparks and spin wildly in the baby's hands, making him shout with laughter. Dippet looked at the happy family sadly, but especially at the little boy.
"If only all his Christmas's could have been so happy," he sighed. "But it was not to be." Before Snape could gasp, "That's Potter?" The cloak swished and the scene vanished, to be replaced by another. This time it was a house, so neat and organized it was sickening, and there was only one type of laughter. A cruel malicious type, which only comes from a person torturing someone else. The baby, who had been so happy in the other scene, was older now, perhaps seven or eight. Another boy, about the same age but enormously fat, whereas the other was skinny, was apparently using the skinny one for a punching bag. The small boy made no sound at all, but seemed to look around the room, as if hoping for a shred of evidence that something could take him away from this torture. His eyes lingered on Snape for a moment, then continued around the room. The look in the boy's large green eyes was almost too much for Snape to bear, but somehow, he could not turn away. A tall, blonde, woman came in, and the fat boy stopped immediately. He also screamed at the top of his lungs:
"HARRY STOLE MY TRUCK!!!"
The small boy said nothing, and the woman hauled him away to a cupboard, smacked him soundly on the face, and berated him for stealing "precious duddykins'" truck. The boy said nothing in his defense, but allowed himself to be locked in a closet. But as his sentence dropped, the boy's eyes again lingered on Snape, so he was almost sure the boy could see him. The boy got locked in the cupboard with his only present, an old, tattered shoe.
"Is there nothing we could do for that boy?" Snape gasped
"Harry Potter is stronger than you imagine."
"Harry...Harry...Harry Potter?"
"Yes, who else? Did you think it was Winston Churchill?"
Snape gaped. A boy, whom he had thought so lucky, and so arrogant, and had so much pride, allowed himself to be locked in a closet. Perhaps he should get to know his students better.
"My time runs short," said Dippet, "But I leave you with a happy scene."
The scene was happy, a large family, all with flaming red hair, opening presents by the Christmas tree. A smaller boy, about the same age as Harry, complained,
"Aww, Mum! Not Maroon again!"
Snape smiled, and almost laughed, at the happiness of the place, with a swish of a cloak, Snape was back in bed, just as the clock struck two.
Not a brilliant light this time, but a soft glow framed Snape's bed. A Fairy-like girl seemed to be coming towards him until SMACK! She smacked him across the face so hard his ears rung.
Snape immediately jumped to his feet screaming, "WHAT WAS THAT FOR?"
"Sometimes you have to **SMACK** smack them on the face to get their attention," said the girl, smiling so angelically Snape almost smiled back until...**SMACK** she kicked him sharply in the shins and **SMACK** once again across the face. "The only person," started Snape in a deathly growl, "The only person that ever DARED to hit me that much was a certain Lily O'Connell, who happens to be dead right now."
"At your service, m'dear," Said Lily, doing a mock bow. "Luckily, even though I'm a ghost, the big guy up there thought it would be good for you to get smacked around. He said no one does it here any more so **SMACK** I'm baaaaaccccck!"
Snape winced at the phrase.
"Oh, by the way, I'm also the ghost of Christmas present, so off we go!" With a final smack across the face, the scene changed, and the first thing he saw was Malfoy, sitting with a huge pile of presents. Malfoy was leering, and greedily opening everything at once. Snape was strongly reminded of the fat boy that beat up Harry Potter. His parents, came over and said,
"We hope you like your presents, sweetie, we have to go to a party now..."
"NO!" Malfoy screamed. "I'M COMING WITH YOU!"
The father tried to reason with him, but Malfoy continued to rant on until he too, got to go. Snape felt disgusted. **SMACK** another smack to the head, and another scene came about. It was the same house as Snape had seen before; only Harry was much older now. Still, his only Christmas present was a coat hanger, and afterwards, during a large Christmas party, he spent the evening up in his room pretending not to exist. Snape had a hard time to convince himself to not go punch someone out. Lily seemed to be having a tougher time. "DO YOU SEE?" She screeched, pounding him over the head, "You criticize him, you torture him, you make my SON'S LIFE A MISERY, AND THIS IS WHAT HE HAS TO PUT UP WITH WHEN HE'S NOT AT SCHOOL!"
She managed to calm down then said, "Get out of my sight. You disgust me." Snape felt disgusted with himself as she hit him soundly over the head, and his vision went blurry.
This time he didn't even go to his bed. A dementor caught up with him, and didn't speak a word but simply pointed, with a hand like rotting flesh, and the scene shifted. It was Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger talking, as Snape saw them do in the halls, and normally gave them a detention for it. Harry said, "So he finally kicked off, huh?"
"Yup," said Ron.
"What was it?"
"Heart failure," Piped up Hermione. They all looked older to Snape.
"Good riddance," said Ron.
The scene shifted abruptly, and it was now a funeral, with Dumbledore speaking words over a grave that no mourners came to. "We hope that, even with his bad heart, some of his good will shine through."
"Spirit," whispered Snape, "Whose is that lonely grave?"
The dementor pointed to the grave marker, which read SEVERUS SNAPE.
"No, not me, surely not me!" Snape cried, looking at the grave, "Spirit, if I repent, if I promise to keep Christmas, and be kind, can I change the future? PLEASE!" he grasped the dementor's hand, and found, that he was grasping his bedpost. It was morning. "I'M NOT TOO LATE! I HAVEN'T MISSED CHRISTMAS!" The students had come back, and Snape, who pushed Malfoy impatiently aside, called down the halls "MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!" until he had found Potter. He swept him up into a hug, and handed him, Ron and Hermione, Christmas sweets he had purchased for himself. "A's FOR EVERYONE THIS TERM!"
He shouted, and ran down the halls, his wand spewing sweets. Harry Potter shook his head. "What's up with him?" he asked.