A/N: Here we are with the last of the Spirits…
A Hogwarts Christmas Carol
Chapter 4: The Last of the Spirits
Severus could see the dark figure slowly approaching, and with each second his fear and terror rose higher. He started shivering. Why wasn't he being hexed yet? The Dark Lord would surely never forgive his degree of duplicity. Yes, it would be a long, slow torture. He tensed with expectation.
Senses sharpened by adrenalin, Severus startled when he heard the tell-tale rattling of breath. He looked up once again after a moment's indecision to find that his first observations were false. Voldemort had not come seeking vengeance. In his place was a Dementor.
Visibly relieved, Severus quickly fired off an Expecto Patronum, using his relief to buoy his Patronus, whose form had surprisingly changed. He watched as the silver hawk dove for the Dementor, only to fly through it, as if it were just a hallucination. The hawk dissipated, and Severus was still left with a Dementor that was apparently immune to Patronuses.
The Dementor didn't move any closer and he lowered his wand slowly, though still alert to the possibility of an attack.
The Dementor seemed to radiate darkness, its cloak flowing about it as it hovered a few feet in the air. Its face was thankfully concealed in shadow. The face of a Dementor was said to only show when about to feed on a hapless victim. Severus had no desire to see such a visage up close. Only it's pale, scarred, and boney hands stood out from the rest of its dark form. It loomed over him, silent but for the rattling of its indrawn breath.
"Are you the Spirit of what is to come?" Severus didn't know whether to expect any response, but watched as the Dementor raised its hand to point off to another direction.
"You are to show me what has not happened yet, but will happen in the future?" Severus wished for clarification. It was hard to take all of it in at once. The Dementor inclined its head, the folds of its hood rippling.
Severus waited a moment to compose his self, but it didn't help. The presence of the Dementor, though it seemed illusory and of a different temperament than that typical of its species, still had two affecting attributes: the ability to make the area around it cold, and its talent of inspiring the worst fears in those about it.
Not sensing any difference of feeling after a few minutes, Severus decided his best bet would be to go in the direction the Spirit was pointing, and hopefully put some distance between them.
"Lead on," he encouraged it to go ahead, not trusting it enough to turn his back on it.
The Dementor moved off in the direction it had pointed, and Severus followed in its shadow, as if unwillingly compelled to follow at a certain distance. They ended up, curiously enough, going into the Quiddich shop, in which a few people were making last minute purchases. Severus admitted to himself that it was a most peculiar thing to see a Dementor walk into the store, as if interested in the wares there.
As he entered, he zeroed in on two familiar voices that made his eyes narrow and his mouth grimace in distaste. Of course they would be in here; Potter and Weasley. It seemed Weasley worked here, and he and Potter were catching up before the former closed shop.
"She comes to me, bawling her eyes out, as if she really cared for the git! I've heard of some former students already planning celebrations and book burnings! You'd think she'd be the happiest of them all after the way he treated her all those years. Hermione's no saint, but she's damn near close to one as a person can be without putting on airs. And he still treated her as the dirt under his feet! I ought to go stomp on his grave. It might help me get over all the times she couldn't even muster up a smile when she came to visit!"
"Ron, it's true he didn't treat her all that well, but I still think, deep inside, he had respect for her-"
"Respect! Respect doesn't mean having her work her fingers to the bone while he sits back and tinkers with his useless experiments, all the while griping at her technique! I know you like to see the good in people, but let's face it, Harry. There's not a smidgeon of good in that man, no matter that he helped us defeat Voldemort. I'm sure what he did was all for his own gain. Selfish bastard!"
"Ron, let's not talk about this subject anymore. You've got to close shop and I've got to go see to Ginny. She's expecting any day now, and has the oddest cravings. Merlin, but I love her."
"Alright, Harry, but we should both stop by the castle tomorrow and see how Hermione's doing. She's not the most stable witch right now."
"Sounds good. See you later," and with a wave, Potter walked out the door, Leaving Weasley to start cleaning.
"Bat-winged bloody Git," the red-head muttered, scrubbing the counter vigorously.
The Dementor left the shop, Severus following as he tried to put the pieces together. Granger was really upset. Weasley was upset that Granger was upset over someone's … death? He shivered and didn't want to follow that train of thought any further.
He followed the Dementor through the crowds down the street. Suddenly, he noticed a woman frantically racing from person to person, desperately asking them something. Severus pulled his robes about himself, even invisible as he was to her. She was soon close enough for him to hear what she was saying.
"Have you seen my boy?" She asked desperately to a young couple, who looked uncomfortable. The woman thrust a picture under the wizard's nose. "That's what he looks like. That's my Teddy. Have you seen him?"
They shook their heads and walked away quickly. The woman moved on to the next people she could see, saying the same thing and getting the same answer. Her eyes shone with unshed tears and panic, her breathing ragged, her robes soiled and torn at the hem as if she'd been walking the streets for days. Dirt smudged her face, dried tear tracks from earlier bouts of crying apparent. It was Andromeda Tonks.
She leaned against the brick wall of a building, her arms wrapped around her to conserve some warmth. She kept muttering the same word over and over, under her breath, not unlike a desperate mantra.
"Please, please, please, please, please …"
Then a ratty newspaper caught her eye, its pages blotted with dirt as if stepped on quite a few times. She hesitated before lifting it out of the gutter it lay in, smoothing the wrinkles out of the front page. Her eyes darted over it, trying to take it in, but seeming to not understand it. She shook her head and blinked, a low keen building up within her until she dropped the paper back into the gutter and shrank back once again to the wall, curling in on herself and rocking back and forth, wrapping her arms tightly around her. Her body shook with the force of her sobs.
Severus stepped nearer, wishing to comfort her. He saw the paper and bent closer to read it. The first page headline read, 'More success in the hunting of rogue werewolves: Minister says Greyback's reign is obsolete.'
Frowning, Severus looked up from the paper to find he was not in Hogsmeade anymore, but at Hogwarts. They were in the library.
Madam Pince was smiling, something that never occurred. She was speaking to the Headmistress.
"I'd be very pleased to make room for all of the books not too dangerous for the children. He did have dark tastes at times with his literature, but I should be delighted to sort through it. Maybe the ones not appropriate for students can be put on the staff room's shelves?"
"Yes, Irma, I think that would be lovely, though the former owner might roll in his grave at the thought of such valuable tomes in the hands of dunderheads," the women chuckled softly, "He always was an odd duck. Always shut up like a tin of sardines, not letting anyone in and no chance of getting anything out of him! I can't say I know one person that was closer to him than Dumbledore or I, and that was hardly close at all!"
Irma nodded in agreement, and they started chatting on about some other person or another. Either way, Severus wasn't listening. He didn't want to connect the dots, even though he knew where this was leading. The Dementor started out in a different direction, and he was actually relieved to follow, hoping to empty his mind to the thoughts flooding in.
They ended up in the staff quarters, the Dementor drifting through a door that used to be one of the unused married teacher apartments. As Severus followed, he saw that it was in use now. A woman, one he immediately recognized, though she had advanced in age a decade or so, sat at a table reading a cut out piece of newspaper. She wiped her eyes and pushed the article away as her husband walked into the room, turning to him with a tremulous smile.
"On about the professor again, are you?" the man asked, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder, "It'll get better with time, dear. Why, when my gram died it was quite hard, even though she had always been mean to me. I realized after all was done that it was just her way of caring for me. Never got to thank her for it, or tell her I understood, but I'm sure she knows by now, wherever she's at. Still, it's strange that he would die of a potion's accident. I always thought he was quite vigilant about it. Now you'll be the one to carry on his legacy, as the next professor to teach Potions, and I know you'll do just brilliant at it, Hermione. Someone else can easily be found for the Muggle Studies position, though you might want to sit in on a few of their lessons, just to make sure they have it all right. That class was positively medieval before you took charge of it!"
The man gave her a kiss on the forehead, and Severus noticed once again that his nails were biting into his skin.
"Just know that I'm proud of you, and I'm sure he'd tell you he was as well, if he could. He never gave much praise to anyone, but if he did, I'm sure it'd be for you."
"Thanks Neville," the curly haired woman smiled softly up at the man, "You always seem to know what to say."
Neville flushed and patted her shoulder once again before turning, "I'm going to go and check on the Flutterby bush in Greenhouse 4. It's about time to prune it again."
With that, the gangly man stepped out of the room, leaving the woman once again to herself. She pulled the newspaper clipping back to her and traced the image fondly with a finger.
"You might not have been the kindest man, and not many will remember what you've done for them over what you've done to them, but I will. I will remember you and miss you. Goodbye."
With that, she walked over to the fireplace and let the paper fall. It incinerated upon contact with the flames, and the woman smiled softly yet sadly at letting it go. She turned to the pantry and started pulling things out to make supper. Severus watched for a few minutes before turning to face the third Spirit. He felt almost wistful. Married life seemed quite comfortable.
He followed the Spirit down the castle, eventually ending up in the corridor that led to the potions classroom and his rooms. The classroom had caution tape over its doorway and was warded heavily against those wishing to go in, but the door was gone, as if blasted off. Severus peeked into the darkened room to see broken glass and spilled ingredients everywhere. He shuddered as he thought that no one could survive such an explosion.
He followed the Dementor to his rooms and through them, even though they were heavily warded against intrusion as well. The Spirit pointed its gnarled finger to his bedroom. Severus instantly dreaded what could be inside.
He reluctantly walked to the doorway and peered inside. There, on his utilitarian metal-framed bed, lay a body wrapped in a sheet.
It did not move. It wasn't asleep.
He backed away into the study, shakily sitting down in a chair by the empty fireplace. The whole room was gloomy as he looked around it. There were no mementos or pictures to look at and feel cheerful about, no company or even mourners about to feel the loss of the person in the bed.
Severus would give no name to that person, though he now knew it to be no other than himself.
He thought hard about his life, the misery he drew around himself, as he did his robes. This was a life he had made for himself, not one that was given to him. He knew that now.
There had been plenty of chances to better his self after Voldemort had been defeated, many of which he shot down immediately in his harsh manner, others of which drifted by without notice, so caught up as he was in the desolation his life had been. He had in no way looked out from his own self to see that others wished to know him and help him. And when bothered from his brooding, he would snarl and snap as violently as any beast. If it was ever known that a man bit the hand that fed him, Severus very often figuratively bit off the hand that even dared get near him. It was self defense in the extreme.
Severus could now admit his error. He knew now, even as he had denied it to himself before, that he must change. If he did not, all the things he had seen would come true. He had no doubt of that.
The Spirits had helped him gain perspective, for which he would be eternally grateful. He turned to the third Spirit soberly.
"Spirit, this is an awful place. In leaving it, I shall not leave its lesson, trust me."
All of a sudden, they were by Dumbledore's grave, but next to it was a new headstone, an obelisk black as the former Headmaster's grave was white. Severus trembled. He didn't want to see the cold hard fact that was repeated over and over in his mind: he was a dead man. Not dead yet, but would be, slowly living out this miserable existence until he gave up on life altogether.
"Before I draw near to the grave, Spirit, answer me one question. Are these shadows of the things that will be or are they shadows of the things that may be?" Severus wouldn't be comfortable without that answer. It was obviously not the Spirit's concern whether he was comfortable though, as it continued to point silently to the grave.
"Tell me that, if I change my ways, this bleak future will also be changed for better. Tell me!"
Still, the Spirit continued only to point, cold, unmoved by Severus' desperation.
Willing this to be over with, Severus stepped forward until he could read the writing on the black obelisk. It said, 'SEVERUS SNAPE.'
At the sight of his name, the idea of his body laid to rest in the ground, Severus' legs gave out beneath him, and he fell to his hands and knees, retching.
Wiping his mouth, he looked up to the Dementor who loomed above him, almost condemning him.
"No, Spirit! Oh, no, no!"
The finger now pointed to him.
"Spirit!" He clutched his robe about him, "hear me! I am not the man I was! I will not be the man I must have been but for your intervention. Why show me this, if I am past all hope?"
The hand appeared to waver.
"Great Spirit," he groveled if once again in the presence of his former master, pleading for leniency, "pity me. Tell me that I can still change these things you have shown me by an altered life!"
The hand trembled.
"I promise to embrace the life given so generously to me! I will not forget my past, but learn from it. I will better myself. Give me this chance to prove myself! Give me this chance to erase those words from that tomb!"
He caught the Dementor's hand in his in his passion and froze, shocked that he could even touch what he thought to be hallucination, let alone grasp its hand in entreaty.
As he stared, half in hope, half in horror, the Dementor shrank in on itself, collapsing, before dwindling down into a bedpost. His bedpost.
A/N: How do you like that for a twist? Next up is the fifth and final chapter, in which Severus seeks to better himself, and not a few people are surprised!
