Disclaimer: All characters and ideas associated with the Harry Potter series are the property of J. K. Rowling and the following companies: Warner Bros., Raincoast Books, Scholastic Books, etc. Charles Dickens owns A Christmas Carol. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringements were intended in its creation. All mistakes and deviations from canon are entirely the fault of the authors.
Hogwarts: A Christmas Carol
Chapter Two: The First Of The Three Spirits
When Malfoy awoke, it was black. He could not remember falling asleep, but recalled the oddest of dreams. Blinking, he tried in vain to dispel the blackness around him, the night so thick that he could not discern the window from the surrounding wall. Stumbling, he walked from the sofa to his familiar bed, weaving between dark objects. Gratefully he fell into the soft sheets and pillows and pulled the curtains closed around him, still trying to shake the images that danced behind his eyes.
Then he heard the chime of the bells on the tower as well as the tiny tinkle from the clock by the bed. The great bellow from a clapper resonating on iron and the small hammer on brass all intoned the same message. ONE.
Holding his breath, he waited as the reverberating sound died in his ears. When it finally dissipated he laughed. It had been just a dream.
There was in that instant a bright and blinding flash in the room, changing the deep black into a crackling white. The sheltering curtains were drawn back and he saw a figure standing in the middle of his room. It was a girl, Malfoy noted in startled astonishment. A woolen cap shoved down over her head barely hid the brown curls that stood out from her stern and impatient face. His astonishment turned immediately into extreme loathing.
"Granger! What the hell are you doing in my room!" he bellowed angrily, pulling the coverlet up to his chin. He then realized with a sinking feeling that he still dreamed. But pinching himself left only red welts upon his skin and no relief from his waking nightmare.
The girl merely stood where she was and tapped her foot on the floor, glaring with mild disdain.
"I asked you a question, Mudblood!" the boy warned dangerously.
The girl tossed her hair and gave her opponent a superior look. "That's exactly why they came, you know."
Malfoy furrowed his brow in confusion. "What are you on about, Granger? And what the hell are you doing here?" he asked again.
"I was referring to your visitors tonight," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
"You know about that?" he asked, flabbergasted. He quickly recovered his composure. "I mean, that dream?"
She shook her head and scoffed. "That was no dream, Malfoy."
"You mean," he stammered.
She nodded.
"They were spirits?"
She nodded again, smiling with smug satisfaction.
"Are...are you…"
"I am."
Malfoy's expression was blank. It was a moment before his calm composure melted and he dissolved into fits of laughter. "You're the spirit who was foretold to me? You're not even dead. How can you be a spirit?" More laughter followed the question. "If this is some trick, it's not very good, is it? I mean, I would expect more from you. Honestly?" he chided, "It feels rather…"
"Frightening?" the girl opined with a hopeful look on her face.
"Plagiarized," he corrected with biting disdain.
The girl stopped smiling instantly and leveled a withering glare on the boy.
"No, really—who and what are you? And why the hell are you in my room?"
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."
"Well, then. Aren't you a bit out of date?" He continued to laugh, obviously amused by his own wit.
"I am the keeper of Christmases forgotten and cherished. The warden of memories."
The laughter had not abated. "Whose?"
"Yours."
The answer sobered him immediately. He jumped up from the warm bed, the covers falling away and he took a menacing step toward the mysterious girl, the likeness of his scholarly rival. "What could you possibly know? Who set you up to this?"
"Relax. I'm not here to blackmail you." She reached into her clean, white robe, her eyes still leveled on the boy. She pulled out a thick notebook and opened the worn cover.
"Then what is your business here?" he asked impatiently.
"Your welfare." Her fingers filed through the pages expertly.
"My welfare?" He asked, leaning closer to the voluminous book, trying to catch a peek. "Why on earth would you of all people concern yourself with my welfare?" he spat, uneasy that Granger was standing in front of him spouting such sentiments.
"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy," she spoke, setting the boy at ease. "It is my task to show you your past. The things you will see with me are but mere shadows of what has been. They will have no consciousness of us." She stopped on an unknown page with a pleased look.
Malfoy stood by the bed, his face a mask of unabashed disbelief. "What do you have in that book, anyway Granger?" He extricated himself from the warm and comforting sheets and stood on the icy floor.
"Your memories," she said with a satisfied expression, pleased with herself. "I've catalogued your past. I have everything here," she informed him, "every deed, and every misdeed."
"My, my," he said, affecting unconcern, "but you are a thorough student."
She ignored him, snapping the book shut with a crack and beckoned him with a pale hand. "Come, we have much to see."
He looked down at his feet, then back at the girl, holding his hands out to his side. A smirk lined his face maliciously. "I'm not about to go parading around my past in pajamas."
"No one will see you."
"But it's freezing out there."
"You won't feel it." The girl wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and beckoned him again.
She walked over to the boy and grasped his wrist firmly. "Honestly, Malfoy. I always thought you were a satin kind of guy," she scoffed, surveying his flannel, monogrammed ensemble.
"Well, sorry to ruin you dreams of me, Granger, but if you would just release me, I might be inclined to forget about this altogether."
Tugging his arm and urging him on, he struggled as she pulled him to the window. "I can't. There are things you must know." With a wave of her hand the window sprang open of its own volition. Malfoy's eyes grew wider as he realized where the strange apparition was leading him.
"Where are we going? Granger, I can't fly!"
But before the words were spoken, they were skimming frosted forests of fir trees, heading for an ever brighter horizon. "Is that it?" He pointed at the bright lights growing bigger and more luminous.
"What?" she asked blandly.
"It!"
"The Past? That it is."
The forest cleared to rolling hills and an imposing stone structure set on a citadel by a gleaming lake.
"We've gone in a circle, you daft Mudblood! That's Hogwarts down there!" Malfoy yelled as they descended.
"It is and it isn't." She shook her head, her hair spangled with a million snowflakes. "It is the same school, but it is five years in the past."
The girl landed softly in the snow and Malfoy fell at her side, floundering in the fluffy and cold substance.
"This is our first year, Granger! What's so important that I learn here?" he said, brushing the white crystals from his hair and face.
"It is your first year, Malfoy. Not mine."
The boy turned to his companion and snorted derisively. "Are you still trying to keep up that sad charade, Granger? Are you honestly trying to convince me that you are not that insufferable know-it-all that I loathe almost as much as Weasley and Potter?"
"I am the same, and yet I am not." She shoved her fists impatiently into her hips. "I can remember nearly nine-hundred years."
"What?" Malfoy blinked in astonishment.
"No more questions. Follow me," the girl commanded, taking no more heed of the angry boy trailing through the snow behind her.
They stepped out of the snow and into the warmth of the Great Hall of the castle that was Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry. Real and tangible figures passed busily by, oblivious to the presence of either the girl or pajama-clad boy. Malfoy reached out to a passing Hufflepuff and watched as his hand passed right through the boy. "No kidding!" he exclaimed.
"I told you that they can't see you or feel you."
"Oh ho, there's a handsome little devil," Malfoy whistled and pointed in the direction of a smaller version of himself, blond hair as always neatly in place. He was flanked by the usual crowd. Crabbe and Goyle stood at his side, sneering in the same manner as their idol, however less elegantly. Their similar, malicious glares were fixed on a target, awaiting only the opportunity. Malfoy watched as the evilly amused glare of his small counterpart followed a girl with bushy brown hair and large front teeth. Malfoy nudged the ghostly girl next to him, jabbing her sharply with his elbow. "Hey, look! There's you!"
"I know!" she replied through gritted teeth. "You honestly don't remember this!"
Malfoy shook his head. "No, I don't." He leaned closer to the seething girl next to him, his arms folded. "What am I supposed to remember?"
"I can't believe you don't remember! I remember like it was yesterday," she scoffed, tossing her hair in an irritated manner. She looked up, shock written all over her face. "I mean, she remembers like it was yesterday." Her recovery was less graceful than she would have liked.
The small, first year Hermione had just stepped out of the Great Hall, dragging an apparently heavy trunk behind her. It was the first day of the holidays and dozens of other students were headed for the train station as well.
"Oy, Granger," the eleven-year old Malfoy shouted to the luggage-laden Granger, who looked up with a startled glance. "Let me help you with that."
"No, no thank you, Malfoy, I've got it, it's no trouble at all," the young Granger stammered, pulling her belongings closer behind her and plunging through the crowds of students with renewed fervor.
With one swift motion of his wand, the eleven-year-old Malfoy had the trunk suspended in the air a few seconds before it burst open, scattering books and clothing all over the entrance hall. Hermione stood red-faced as the hall erupted into torrents of laughter and the chorus was lead by Malfoy and his cronies, almost crying with mirth.
Next to the ghostly apparition of Hermione, Malfoy could barely contain a giggle, which the girl rewarded with a shrewd glare. "That was not funny!" she scolded harshly. "I…I mean, she was teased for weeks about the kitty pajamas."
"You're right, that was not my best work, she didn't even cry!" Malfoy appraised.
She threw her hands up in the air. "That's not the point, Malfoy! Don't you feel horrible about making people miserable? Do you know what it feels like to be laughed at?"
"No, actually." He frowned at her before he resumed examining his nails.
"Right then," she said, pursing her lips and grabbing him by the wrist once more. "Come with me."
"Where are we going now?" he whined, trailing her.
"You'll see," she said in a haughty voice.
There was another blinding flash. Malfoy blinked and scoffed as he noticed they stood in exactly the same place they were before, only the entrance hall was more festively and cheerily decorated. Students were streaming in and out of the Great Hall wearing their finest dress robes.
"Where are we, Granger?" Malfoy asked.
"Hogwarts," she replied.
"I know that! Where in time are we?" he spoke with emphasis.
"This is Christmas, two years ago."
"Our fourth year," he intoned blandly.
"You're getting good at this, Malfoy," she scoffed sarcastically.
"I can still make you cry," he threatened tensely. "So why are we here?"
The girl simply pointed.
The large wooden doors of the Great Hall suddenly burst open and a pink-robed girl rushed forth passed the two observers in the greatest haste possible. She was crying.
"Was that?" Malfoy asked, his eyes wide with astonishment.
The girl nodded mysteriously. "What did you say to her that night, Malfoy?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "Nothing much—certainly not anything that warranted that excessive show of drama."
She stared at the boy who appeared to feel a bit of remorse. Leading him out onto the steps, they could hear the girl crying. "Had you realized you hurt her that much?"
Malfoy frowned. "Pansy was always a bit touchy, Granger. It may not have even been my fault."
She looked over her shoulders and spotted the fourteen-year-old Malfoy standing in the doorway with his lackeys laughing maliciously. "Not your fault, eh?"
Malfoy shoved his hands in his pockets and looked back to Pansy, huddled in a tangle of pink silk, shivering and crying. "Well, is there anything I can say? Anything I can do?"
She shook her head sympathetically. "Nothing now. You can't change the past."
He stared at the girl blankly. "I never meant to make her cry." Then, as if the icy wind had altered him somehow, he stood a little more rigidly as he spoke. "But I can't change."
The girl shook her head. "We have watched every good quality in you slip away, replaced by meanness and spite. I'm not sure there is anything in you worth saving. You certainly haven't proven that you even want saving. Just tell me you don't like what you see, that you want to change this," she said, pointing to the girl sobbing on an icy bench in the snow.
Malfoy frowned. "Please, can we go now. I don't want to see anymore."
The spirit seemed not to hear him and stood, staring at him in harsh accusation. He was conscious of a struggle to make the spirit see reason and release him from his burden of guilt. He felt the crushing weight of drowsiness pulling him down into a deep and thoughtless sleep. Before long he was conscious of neither the absence of the spirit nor his comfortable and familiar bed.