The First Visit
When I awoke, I had no perception of time or place. Though I assumed I was in my room, which was probably because I was in a bed of the same support, with the same dank smell that I had begun to love so much, there were no windows so the darkness told me nothing of the hour.
I groggily reached over to my nightstand where I groped lazily for my wand. Feeling the smooth willow-wood of an Olivander wand, 13 and ¼ inches with a core of dragon-heart string and unicorn's hair, I brought it into my grasp and whispered, "Lumos." A long strip of white light shot out the end, and I peered up at the clock that sat next to my bed. Twelve o'clock, dead on. But how could that be? I clearly remembered seeing that it was two when I retired, after my meeting with Voldy. The meeting, had it all been a dream?
But I remembered plainly, and it was no dream, that it had been two o'clock in the morning when I fell asleep. If that was true, then how could it be midnight? Perhaps it was already noon? The thought worried me, I had work to do and I had already wasted at least six hours of a prosperous day.
"Nox." I climbed out of bed quickly and pulled on my robe. Saying a short spell, the candles that floated in the air above my head lit, using the same charm that affected the candles in the Great Hall, and filled the room with an eerie light. I listened intently for footsteps of the Slytherins that had stayed for the holidays, or a voice going down the hall. But I heard nothing. I looked at the clock, and, as I thought it had said, it read twelve midnight. Magic clocks were never wrong.
Sighing, I shrugged off my robe and again crawled into my bed, burrowing myself in the blankets to keep out the chill that I had become accustomed to. I said the counter spell to extinguish the candles, and I tried to sleep, but I could not. The hours had no pull on my eyelids, and the heaviness that had grown on my shoulders earlier that night had been lifted with only…a negative two-hour rest.
I knew it had to be a dream. Or a trick. But the students wouldn't be able to do anything, they had no entrance, magical or not, into my dormitory. And the teachers had more class than to pull something so mediocre and low. Voldemort was dead; he would never come back…in ghost form or any other. That settled it, it was only a dream.
I stayed awake, watching the clock. The first quarter passed, then the second, then the third. I couldn't fall asleep for the life of me, and my eyes were starting to twitch from focusing on one object for such a long time. As my mind aimlessly wandered, I started thinking about how Muggles could stay slightly normal when they sat in front of this box which they referred to as a "telly" without going completely blind.
I gave a snort in startled surprise as the chimes rang on my clock. It was one o'clock. The next minute passed, and I sighed in relief. I was right, it was only a dream, and the ghost hadn't come.
"Awfully sorry I'm late," a voice suddenly said out of the darkness. "Three girls in the bathroom wouldn't leave. I wanted to get them in trouble for being out their houses after curfew, but I was afraid of what they would say if they saw me…"
Appearing before me was a young girl, the sheerest gray and transparent. A ghost, I had no doubts. She was squat and bespectacled and could have been no older than fourteen…when she died. Her face was drawn in a mixed look of self-pity, worry, and another feeling, perhaps smugness, which didn't quite fit in with the other two. I recognized the young girl; I had probably seen her before once or twice. She was not a regularly seen ghost; otherwise I would be able to easily identify her.
So the spirit had come after all.
"So you're number one," I said with a sneer, making my voice as cold and unpleasant as possible. "May I ask your name?"
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past, or as most call me, Moaning Myrtle. Either will do." The ghost pushed her transparent (and probably not needed) spectacles up her nose and sat on my bed, sinking slightly through it. I felt the bitter cold as she passed through my toes. Noticing she had sat on me, she scooted closer to the footboard.
She looked around in the darkness, like she could actually see through it. "Nice place you got here," she commented. "Much better then the lavatories. It's an awful mess when the plumbing backs up…"
"Is there a reason you're here?" I interrupted impatiently.
"Of course, Sevvy." I cringed at the horrid shortening of my name. "I'm here to show you your past."
"Why?"
"Look," she gave an exasperated sigh. "If you would actually listen when Voldy says something, I'm sure you would be much better…"
"Fine," I said, pulling my night robes down over my knees and climbing out of bed. "Let's go."
"Finally," she pushed her glasses up her nose again. I was starting to think that it wasn't an act of convenience, but instead a nervous habit. And it was awfully annoying. "Took you long enough. We're on a tight schedule. Follow me."
"At least let me get my clothes on first…" I protested.
She stopped and turned her head around to glare at me over her shoulder. "What did I say?"
"Fine, forget it," I mumbled. She turned back and continued walking down the stairs. I followed, already embarrassed that I was about to walk outside of my confines in my nightclothes. Especially since they weren't the most modern in the wizarding world. And I couldn't stand being bossed around by the ghost of a little girl. I would have strangled her, if that were possible.
By some stroke of luck, especially odd on a luck-free night like this, we made it up the stairs from the dungeon and to the main hall without anyone, human or otherwise, seeing us. We took another hallway off the great hall and took a number of complicated corridors and passages before we arrived at the stone gargoyle that blocked the way to what I knew to be Professor Dumbledore's office. I wondered why she had had taken me here.
"Ton-tongue toffee," Moaning Myrtle whispered, leaning close to the stone statue. It suddenly sprung to life and leaped aside, allowing entrance into the Headmaster's office. I had always known that Dumbledore liked to use the names of odd candies for his password, but 'ton-tongue toffees' I had never heard of.
She led me quietly up the stairs and opened the door that released us into an oval-shaped room; the bright walls adorned with long-since-dead headmasters' paintings, the witches and wizards all sleeping peacefully in their frames. Besides the dozing headmasters and the phoenix Fawkes, who was also resting on his perch, the room was completely empty of any living or once-living attendants. But even so, the room seemed to be alive itself with all the gadgets on the shelves that whirled about restlessly, never ceasing, chimes ringing at odd moments. But even with the clatter of these instruments, the room was eerily quiet, too quite for my taste. The ghost girl walked over to a cabinet, her form reflecting blue for a minute as she walked past a sapphire-colored orb. She swung open the cabinet doors (and I had thought that ghosts couldn't do that. Perhaps they could touch when they needed to?), and immediately a silvery-blue light poured like a stream into the room, illuminating the shining trinkets on Dumbledore's desk.
"Come here, Snapey," she said. Great, the cutesy version of my last name was even worse then the shortened version of my first. I think she was experimenting, throwing names out to see which one irritated me more. Whatever she was doing, if bothering me was her goal, it was working.
Against my will I walked over the cupboard and squinted at the sight that greeted me. It was a shallow basin, wide and solid with odd characters I barely recognized carved into its sides. It was filled with a substance I have grown to love the sight of, like light made liquid, swirling around like rays caught in a whirlpool. Silver spun and wove in and out of each other, emitting a beautiful light. It was the only thing of real beauty I loved. It was Pensieve, memories made tangible. I had no need to ask why she had taken me here.
"Now…just lean forward a bit…"
I subconsciously leaned over the basin, my eyes pulled into its depths of silver nothingness.
The amulet that hung around my neck stretched for the substance, dangling dangerously above it. I leaned closer, and felt an invisible pull reach for my body and take me its grasp. In a moment, my feet had left the ground and I was being hurtled downward, into Dumbledore's memories.
I looked up from the floor where I had landed, slightly dazed. I swept aside a few strands of my slick (I refused to call it "greasy", like so many other people had) and black hair out of my face. I had fallen bone-jarringly onto a hardwood floor, and the walls around me were decorated in a similar fashion to the witch decorum of over twenty years before.
I recognized the room very well. It was my own classroom, except cheerier and with more light then I had seen in recent years. Though it was brightly lit, the colors seemed muted and any little sound was stifled by a memory's ignorance of intense details. Even Dumbledore's thoughts couldn't store every embellishment of real life.
"Here you are," Moaning Myrtle said beside me. I jumped to my feet, startled. "Your third year at Hogwarts, first day of winter holidays."
"Where…" I began to growl. Then I saw him. Or should I say I saw me? It was the younger version of myself, only thirteen years old, and unaware of the life that awaited me. I had already made enemies of the four who called themselves "the Marauders", and other feelings I was not yet aware of, the odd feelings that lurked somewhere inside my body. It was not exactly a handsome body, but my black hair was clean and well kept, my nose not as crooked and pockmarked as it was now. I had a fierce intelligence and a thirst for knowledge. I put all my effort into potions, perfecting old ones and creating my own.
I sat at a table, squinting at a vial that I held in my long fingers. Dumbledore, then only a respected teacher (though even then there had been rumors that he would soon become the next headmaster), stood behind me and gazed over my shoulder as I diligently worked. He was younger then, but no one would be able to tell unless they had counted the difference in the number of fine lines on his wise face. He had the same sparkling blue eyes, gazing over the familiar half-moon spectacle. He wore robes of a rich royal blue, and he was looking pleased yet somewhat sad.
"Severus," he said quietly. His voice had not even changed in the years that I had become an adult. "You are doing very fine work, but will you not even consider going home to your family?"
The younger me just grunted in reply and tipped the vial into the cauldron.
"But I think someone was looking forward to your stay."
I watched as I set the vial and looked up at him questioningly. "My parents barely take my coming home on the summer holidays. Why do they want me for Christmas?"
My voice was so much softer then, not at all convicting or cold. If one were to look at the two of us, besides from the similarities in appearance and the same talent, he or she wouldn't be able to tell that we were one and the same.
"I wasn't talking about your parents." I couldn't help but recognize the mischievous glitter in Dumbledore's eyes.
"Hello, Severus."
I watched silently as a girl walked by me, coming from the doorway. She was the same age as the young me, with lustrous auburn hair and an attractive face, her intense green eyes being the center of anyone's attention. It was unmistakably the thirteen-year-old Lilly Aarons, who we had started calling Lilly Potter at such a young age when she started dating James. A pang of jealousy shot through my heart, I had always felt something for her, and James knew it. I was overcome by sadness, looking at the young girl who didn't know that she would die after just getting married to her true love, James, and giving birth to their first and only child, the famous Harry Potter.
"Severus," she said again. "I would like you to come home with me for the holidays. Mum and Dad would love to have another wizard around. I don't want you to be here alone."
Much to my dismay, I felt my eyes getting wet. I wiped my sleeve across my face and continued to watch, ignoring the glances that the ghost was giving me.
"I won't take no for an answer," she interrupted, grinning her famous grin that made a majority of the boys at Hogwarts stutter and start to sweat in odd places. I was among that majority.
The young me looked up at her, amazement shining in my innocent eyes. "O-okay," I said in some sort of daze. I watched as I quietly and absent-mindedly put my things into my book bag and followed her out the door, muttering a quiet "'Bye, Professor," as I walked past.
Dumbledore was now the only one remaining in the room, and he was smiling.
Suddenly and without warning, I stumbled into a dark void, where the ghost and I were the only ones there.
"Where are we?" I asked, wiping away the stinging tears that had again begun to grow in my eyes.
"Between memories," Myrtle answered without interest. "We'll be at the next one in a few moments." There was an uncomfortable pause and I watched as a transparent smirk formed on her face. Then she dropped the bombshell. "You loved her, didn't you?"
I turned away, hoping she couldn't see me blushing in the darkness. "She was my first love. Of course, she never knew. And she never would."
Myrtle nodded in understanding. "She died a woman. She had children."
"One," I corrected her quickly. "A boy."
Myrtle nodded again. "Of course, Harry Potter." She pushed her glasses up her nose (I had the sudden urge to knock them off of her head, but I knew that wasn't possible). "Well, we'll be visiting your next and last human love here shortly…"
"What?" I groaned loudly. "No, no, no. Not…"
Before I could answer, I was thrust on my face into a noisy room crowded with tons of people, mostly young. From the scent of in the air and the rosy glow of bewitched holly leaves, I knew this was the Yule Ball of the first year I had started my job at Hogwarts.
There I sat, at the head table, staring out at the students with an uninterested smile plastered across my face. It was odd to see myself smile; I hadn't seen it in so long. But even a first year could tell that my mind had wandered elsewhere.
About two spots down the staff table.
There a witch sat. She was older than I, I must admit, but her face was still unlined and her eyes held youthful warmth. She wore her preferred pointed hat and favorite tartan dress robes, which she still liked to wear after even several years. She was intelligent, interesting, and oddly attractive to me. She was…
Professor Minerva McGonagall.
My eyes didn't leave her all evening, through dances and meals I always watched her, either straight on or from the corner of my gaze. I watched as she gracefully spooned custard into her mouth, as she nibbled on a piece of apple bread, as she sipped on her cider.
The present me squirmed as I watched them, her mostly. I remembered everything; it was exactly the same as I had pictured it. I had almost forgotten that the ghost was there until she said something, startling me.
"So odd that they're so grateful for something so unimportant."
"Unimportant?" I said angrily.
"This hall is not nearly as beautiful as it has been these days. Does Dumbledore even deserve so much recognition?"
"He had and has the right to make us happy and unhappy. He is the very personification of happiness himself."
She shrugged. "Whatever you say. But we must quicken on."
Before I could protest we were thrown into another memory, this one nearer than the last. I saw me again, a man in the prime of my life. But under the happier façade, I saw the restlessness and eagerness in my eyes.
Someone was sitting besides me, and I jumped to my feet in utter surprise. Dumbledore had not been there, so why was this memory included?
"This is my own gift," Myrtle said with a smug smile as if she could read my mind. "Ghosts can work a little magic, too."
I didn't answer her but focused in on the woman and myself. It was McGonagall who sat beside me, looking frustrated and displeased.
"It doesn't matter anymore," she said softly. "To you, I am little. Another idol has replaced me. You have no room left in your heart for love."
"What idol has displaced you?" I sneered. I could have yelled at my younger self for being so stupid.
"A dark one."
"Minerva," Young I said softly, reaching out to touch her face but then withdrawing my hand. "You know what I am doing. You know how important it is. I am with the Dark Lord for a good purpose."
"But he has had his effects on you," she whispered, not meeting my gaze. "I have seen the change. You are cold and uncaring, there is no room left for me in your life."
"I am wiser," I answered, my teeth gritting. "I have learned much, all of which I will apply for the rest of my life. All of which will make me a great Wizard."
She shook her head sadly. "My love was made with another man."
"I was a boy," I answered impatiently.
"Then love to you is a boy's game. I do not care if my husband is the most powerful wizard in the world. I want love, Severus. But you can't give that to me any more. You don't know how many lonely nights I have thought about this. But I will release you."
"I have never sought release."
"I know," she hung her head, and from the angle where the present me stood, I saw the tear course down her cheek that I hadn't seen when I was on the bench next to her.
"What, then?"
"I am nothing to you. Would you try to win me now? Tell me!"
I watched as I struggled for words, the mind which I thought quick and superior struggling to keep up with the disappearing emotions inside of me. "You don't think so."
"I would like to think otherwise if I could. But now I know the truth. I release you, the love has faded from your soul."
I was about to say something, and even the present me was about to run after her, but I knew I could do no good.
"Meetings between us will be awkward, I regret out occupations will bring us together much. But I do not care, may you be happy in the life you have chosen, Professor Snape!"
McGonagall had walked briskly away and I was left alone on the bench in the gardens of Hogwarts.
"Take me back home," I muttered angrily. "I want to see no more of this."
Moaning Myrtle sighed and gave a clap of her hands. "Very well, but I do regret leaving. This has been a most interesting experience."
She gave another clap of her hands and I was suddenly back in my bedroom, and the ghost was gone. I wondered how I had gotten back to my room, since we had been in Dumbledore's office when I tumbled into his memories.
If it really was a dream, it was very tiring. Not ever having felt a fatigue so intense, I fell onto my bed and again fell into a sleep unlike I had never experience, filled with haunting dreams of memories I had wished forgotten.
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