Jingle bells, jingle bells...
The Second Visit
It was still one o'clock.
Suddenly, the chamber lit and the room was filled with a bright glow, and I shielded my eyes against the change in light. Squinting, I peaked out from behind my hand and gasped as my glance passed across the room. The floor was covered in food of every size, shape, color, and taste. Fruits of every kind and sweetness: juicy pears and oranges, rosy apples, and spiky pineapples; piles of luscious vegetables and dressings, cakes and candies of every kind piled into Honeydukes bags, meat of every origin, and kegs of Butterbeer lined the edge of every wall and spilled onto the stone floor.
In my chair sat a Giant, one who looked spectacularly like Hagrid, and was dressed in robes of rich red and green with fur lining. His cap was loose fitting and lined with wool, and his cheeks held a tinge of merry red.
"Good mornin', Professor Snape," the Giant said. Indeed, it was Hagrid. But if he was a ghost, wasn't he supposed to be dead?
I voiced my opinion. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?" I said quickly.
"Ah, sure, but that takes all th' fun out ov'it!" Hagrid clapped his hands--which were the size of trashcan lids--together and swooped an apple off of the floor. "I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present!"
"What do you want?" I said with a sigh. This was getting tiring; the last thing I wanted was dirty Hagrid the oafish gamekeeper in my room in the wee hours of the morning.
"Touch my robe," he said with a mischievous grin, stroking his curly brown beard.
I frowned, but leaned forward and took the velvety fabric in my hand. "Why am I doing this?"
Hagrid shrugged. "I just always wanted to say that."
Suddenly, a thin, cold chain was thrown over my neck and Hagrid was holding a tiny hourglass in his hand. "Time t' go," he rumbled.
"Hey, that's a Time T-"
Before I could finish my sentence he had given the hourglass eight sharp turns forward, and I was pulled from by bedroom once again, the piles of fruits, vegetables, meat and pastries disappearing, and lead by a ghost that wasn't really dead.
§
Hagrid quickly lead me into the gardens, which were lit with dazzling sunlight and the white reflection off the freshly fallen snow. The windows of Hogwarts's towers were bleak and unoccupied, except for the owls that swooped in and out of the portholes in the Owlry. It seemed to still be early, for neither students nor teachers were out roaming the snow-covered grounds.
"We must be off." Hagrid took Snape by the collar, hoisted him into his arms, and ran off in a quick jog. It took about five minutes before they reached the gates of Hogwarts. They quickly exited, Apparated, and Snape was taken aback as he saw that he was standing in front of a dilapidated, too-many-stories-for-its-own-good house with broken shudders and odd colored siding. A sign nearby read "The Burrow".
"Where are we?" I grumbled, looking around cautiously.
"What? Can't ya read, professor?" Hagrid gave me a slap on the back, almost sending me straight into a dangerous looking rosebush. "We're at the Burrow!" he added with a mighty guffaw.
"Yes, charming," I answered with obvious sarcasm. "But who does this…erm…lovely home belong to?"
"Dun tell me you don't e'en recognize yur own assistants place!" Hagrid said, his mouth hanging slightly ajar. "Why, this is the Weasley home!"
"I should have known…" I grumbled under my breath. Hagrid obviously didn't hear me; otherwise he probably would have had me on the ground in seconds.
"Come on now, professor." He threw something soft and flowing over my head, the sheen of pure silver. It was silky to the touch, like what the Pensieve would have felt like if it were touchable. Liquid light.
It was an Invisibility Cloak.
"We dun want to be seen," Hagrid said in a hoarse whisper. "Time travel is dangerous stuff it is, dunno what could ever 'appen…"
I begrudgingly followed Hagrid closer to the house, and he lifted me up on his shoulders to see through the windows and into the Weasley's sitting room. Arthur Weasley sat in a patched, red velvet chair, with a small 6th year I recognized to be Ginny Weasley curled up asleep at his feet. A rotund woman with a cheery face hovered around the tree, while the two Weasley Twins, Fred and George, climbed around under the boughs looking for hidden presents that they hadn't already found. I almost laughed at the sight of them, they were both well out of Hogwarts and adults in the wizarding world, and yet they were clambering around the Christmas tree in red footsy pajamas (which, I must add, clashed horribly with their hair) like two year olds at…well…Christmas time.
"Really too bad that Ron didn't come home this year," Mrs. Weasley said softly, turning to speak to her husband. I could see the glint of tears in her eyes. "The whole family is here…except for him."
Indeed, the other five children were there, the two older boys sitting in chairs on either side of the room, Percy Weasley and his wife Penelope were resting on the couch with a red haired child resting in between them, and the twins and Ginny were obviously there, also. I stared in disgust at whom I recognized as Bill Weasley. He had definitely not changed since he had left Hogwarts; the same rebellious attitude, the smug smile, the same way of dressing that said "I'm just waiting to be shot". He was relaxing in an overstuffed chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, clothed in torn jeans (Muggle clothing!) and an old t-shirt. A single earring hung from his right ear, a tiny fang. I decided I didn't want to know what monstrosity he had gotten that from.
"Don't worry about him, Mum," Charlie, a short and stocky young man, said reassuringly. "This is his last year at Hogwarts. I don't blame him for wanting to stay. He'll be home next year. Besides, he doesn't want to leave Hermione during the Christmas hols." He grinned, and Mrs. Weasley turned slightly pink.
"Hey!" Fred-or was it George? - suddenly said from the tree. "There aren't any good presents here!"
The older couple turned an even darker shade or rouge and exchanged sad glances.
"We're…not doing so well this year, George." So it was George. "Ever since I lost my job, things have been tight."
The twins turned to their parents and nodded. "So this is all ol' Snape's fault, isn't it?" they said in unison. I flinched outside the window at the mention of my name.
"No, no," Arthur was looking very tired and ragged, the bags under his eyes making him look like he was much older than he really was. "It's my fault I got fired from the ministry. It's because of Snape that we have Christmas at all."
"But that crotchety old fool…you deserve twice as many galleons as you make!" This time it had been Charlie who had spoken. Any slight liking I had previously had for the quiet one of the family immediately vanished.
Mrs. Weasley quickly cut in. "Fred, George, go change into some proper clothes. Dinner is almost on and you're still wandering around in your pajamas…"
"Oh, come on, Mum, its Christmas!" George…I think…said.
She gave them a glare that could burn a hole through a concrete wall, and the two scurried upstairs without another word.
In a short time, though it seemed forever to one who was balancing uncomfortably on a Giant's shoulders (that would be me), the family had re-gathered downstairs and the flocked into the dining room. Hagrid carried me to the next window and I peaked in at them, all conversing, laughing, and waiting patiently for their Christmas feast to be served.
Then I noticed that there were two people missing, besides Mrs. Weasley who I saw running about in the kitchen. As to answer my question, Arthur walked grimly into the dining room, Ginny leaning weakly on his arm. She was pale and small, and so fragile that it looked like she would break with just a brush of a feather. Her face was sunken and her thin body gangly and gaunt, but her eyes were bright and full of life. Her health had progressively grown worse over the past years, she had stopped attending Hogwarts (and I had been glad at the time, I had never particularly cared for the Weasley children), and I had never seen her after…until now. I had heard that she was ill with some sort of magical ailment, but no one knew what it was, nor were they able to cure it. All she could do was stay home and wait, hoping that one day they would find the solution to her problem. Not only had her body grown weak, but also her powers had vanished without a trace.
"Dinner!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, and at once a meager feast appeared on the table. It consisted only of a few small bowls of vegetables, and the bird was no bigger than a canary. I watched as the looks fell on everyone's face, including that of Mrs. Weasley's.
Everyone lifted their tarnished wineglasses in their toast. "To the health of Professor Snape, the founder of this feast!" Weasley shouted, startling me so much that I almost fell off Hagrid's shoulders.
"Founder of this feast indeed!" Mrs. Weasley said with a huff, her chubby face turning as red as her hair. "I wish that Scrooge were here, I would give him a piece of my mind that he can feast upon…"
The children exchanged knowing glances across the table.
"My dear," Arthur said. "The children! It's Christmas Day!"
Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips in anger and annoyance. "It should be Christmas Day, I am sure, that anyone should drink to the health of an odious, arrogant, selfish, self-righteous man as Mr. Snape." Ouch. "You know it, Arthur, better than anyone else!"
"Christmas Day…" Weasley said again, mumbling this time out of obvious fear of his raving wife.
"I'll drink his health for your sake and the Day's," said Mrs. Weasley, " but not for his. Long life to him! A happy Christmas and a merry New Year! He'll be very happy and very merry, I have no doubt."
I flinched at the sarcasm in her voice, but the children drank to my health after she spoke.
"God bless us, everyone." Ginny said the blessing quietly, and they dug into their food.
Besides Mrs. Weasley's hateful toast, no one complained of the feast that had been given, and this was all they could afford because of the less than spectacular wages I had given to Arthur. Ginny sat quietly at the table, picking through her good with uninterest, her pale skin and lackluster hair filling the room with a drab and depressing void.
"Will Ginny live?" I asked Hagrid, more out of curiosity than anything.
"I don't know. I'm not Trewleny, professor. But in my min', all I can see of poor Gin's future is an empty chair and an unused wand."
I remained silent. I didn't know what to say, and I certainly wasn't going to say anything sympathetic, after all, I was Snape. My heart wasn't anywhere near melting. Hearts of iron do not melt as easily as hearts of ice.
Without a word of warning, we had Apparated again. We were outside the familiar Hogwarts gates.
"Time is runnin' short," Hagrid said heavily as he picked me up and ran, lurching, across the school grounds, into the castle, and up several flights of stairs. We soon reached a portrait of a humungous woman in a stretched pink dress who was waiting peacefully in her frame.
"Who's there?" she whispered. She had undeniably heard Hagrid's footsteps, and the dull thud as Hagrid set me down (well, dropped me is really the correct word) on the stone floor. But the Invisibility Cloak was still draped over our shoulders and it was impossible for her to smell us or feel us. We were just a phantom to her.
Hagrid scratched his head in thought, the big oaf seemed to have forgotten the password to whatever corridor he was forcing me into.
After what seemed like eternity, he finally remembered. "Dance Macabre," he muttered.
With an eerie shudder, the Fat Lady said "very well" and swung forward, allowing us entrance.
The first thing that called my attention was the coloring of the room I had stepped into. From the burgundy walls and upholstery, accented with subtle gold, I knew that I was now in the Gryffendor common room. And yet I had no idea why.
"What the heck is "charades"?" a familiar voice said from near the fire. Hagrid and I walked closer, making sure not to create too much noise as to cause a distraction. That's what I had liked about the previous ghost's visits better; there was no risk of getting caught by your old self in a memory.
We walked closer until we were right behind an overstuffed couch, looking down on its inhabitants. Hermione Granger was curled up on it, her bushy-haired head resting comfortably on Ron Weasley's shoulder and smiling. Harry Potter was seated in the nearest wing-backed chair, and from the exaggerated angle it sat at in the otherwise orderly room, he had dragged it closer to the couch to speak to his friends.
"It's this game," Hermione got up from her seat on the couch, Ron reaching out to protest, and gestured in the air. "You do actions with your hands and people have to guess what you're acting out. It's a very popular Muggle game."
"Sounds boring," Ron said, eying his Wizard chess set that sat idly on the table.
"I'm sure you'll like it, Ron," Potter said, leaning back in the chair. "I'm getting tired of chess anyway."
"Yes, do come on, Ron. Just for a change."
Weasley groaned. I felt like kicking something, not for any particular reason. Just to make a loud noise and startle them. I started to slowly lift my leg off the ground, but Hagrid stamped his heel down on my foot. I would have yelped out in pain if the Giant hadn't slipped his hand over my mouth at that precise moment.
"Did you hear something?" Potter said. He looked past us-or through us, should I say-and it was a most eerie feeling. His bangs had parted across his forehead and the dark, lightning-shaped scar that adorned it was clearly visible in the firelight.
"No, I didn't," Hermione said, shaking her bushy head. "Now, let's get on with it."
Snape yawned as the three children went through at least a dozen long acts, and soon Longbottom came downstairs from the boy's dormitory to join them. "Did you bring me here to bore me?" I said to Hagrid, but he nudged me in a manner that told me I was going to be crushed if I didn't shut up.
"My turn!" Hermione said cheerfully, getting up from her position on Weasley's shoulder. She jumped up to the front beside the fire, and I waited, hoping her robes would catch on fire. Or her hair; that would have been amusing.
After a sequence of Granger attempting to smooth down her bushy hair and other numerous rude gestures, Longbottom finally yelled out "Snape!" All four of them roared in laughter, and I was starting to turn red. "So this is for my anger, instead?"
Hagrid stomped on my foot, and I almost yelled out in pain.
"No," Hagrid whispered, dragging me back and pushing the portrait open.
"Listen, there it is…" Potter said, cut off when the portrait door closed.
"Don't it bother you in th' leas' bit?" Hagrid said, dragging me along the corridor.
"No," I said, but hesitantly. Something inside me moved, something I hadn't felt before. Guilt? Regret?
"Yur lyin', Professor."
"No, I'm not. Now let me go!" I exclaimed. The oaf didn't listen but continued to drag me down the hall, down several flights of stairs, and in front of a sculptor of a bewitched pineapple that had sprouted a tree from it's leaves.
"Here's where I'll leave ya," Hagrid said. "Have a good Christmas, Professor." He jerked the cloak from our shoulders and I was again visible. With a nod, he threw it over himself and in a shimmer disappeared.
"Well that's just great…" I muttered, looking both ways down the hallway. Though I didn't want to admit it, I was lost. I had never been lost in Hogwarts before. Dumb oaf of a Giant, I would be sure to talk to Dumbledore about him.
I jumped as the clock struck twelve.
When the last stroke of the chime ceased to vibrate, I looked about desperately. Behind me a wall had formed, and I was now stuck in a dead-end hall. Then I saw it, a figure draped and hooded, floating like a black mist toward me.