Author: Jane Lane
Rating: PG, I suppose, just to be safe.
Summary: Who says every fresh start has to be at New Year's?
Challenge: A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, from the Classic Canon Challenge over at LJ.
Disclaimer: Mad props to Chuck D. and Jo Row, who are the rightful owners of all the wonderful things I've borrowed.
Notes: You can read this at the CCC, at my website, or here, which I guess would be most convenient, although the italics never works for me here, and I'm too lazy to bother figuring out why. Thanks to all who have (and are still) leaving me such wonderful comments and compliments!
There's No L in "Hogwarts"
Harry Potter stood in the dungeon classroom, dutifully scrubbing out cauldrons by hand and glaring at Snape, who was sitting at his desk and writing with a mildly disinterested expression.
"Potter, quit glaring," Snape murmured and Harry scowled even more, scrubbing with violent motions. "And try not to take the finish off."
With a frustrated puff of breath, Harry tossed the rag down into the bottom of the cauldron and continued to stare at Snape. "Are you really going to make me come down here again tomorrow?"
Snape replied, "Sir," and rose to walk to one of the large cabinets.
Harry fought not to roll his eyes. Snape wasn't looking at him but he didn't put it past the man to be able to hear him do it. "Are you really going to make me come down here again tomorrow, Sir?"
"Yes."
"But sir!"
Snape whirled about, robes swirling dramatically. "What is it now, Potter?" he asked in a frightfully calm voice.
"It's Christmas!"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "A silly Muggle holiday," he replied immediately.
Harry looked scandalized. "But Christmas is important!"
The set of Snape's mouth hardened and his eyes glittered dangerously. "So is learning that the rules of this school apply to everyone. You chose to remain here for the holidays, you chose to break curfew, thus, you have a week's detention. That includes tomorrow."
Harry's eyes darkened and he looked as if he wanted to say something singularly nasty. "I told the Weasleys that I'd--" He paused but ignored the roll of Snape's eyes. "--be there for Christmas Day, sir. It's important to me."
Snape glared at Harry for a bit before inhaling. "Be here at six a.m. precisely the day after then." Harry looked ready to hug the man until he added, "I expect you won't mind harvesting the frogs' eyes when you arrive."
Again, Harry's jaw clenched but he only nodded and said, "Yes, sir," in response.
The Bloody Baron, the ghost of Slytherin, was not afraid of much. After all, he'd gotten through his death and at least managed to keep his head, unlike that fool, Sir Nicholas. The Baron was not fond of discussing much of anything with Nick that the nearly-headless ghost disagreed with, as every time Nick shook his head, it always flopped to one side and was quite distracting.
Even in the time before his death, the Baron was someone to be feared and obeyed. Now at Hogwarts, he had little patience with the students and they gave him a wide berth. But tonight, though he wasn't afraid, per se, he was uncomfortable to say the least, and he hovered outside the door to Severus Snape's chambers for at least half an hour before deciding he might as well get this over with.
He floated through the door with dignity and pomp and circumstance and everything else that went along with those things. The flames in the fireplace leapt up obligingly.
Snape did not.
In fact, Snape didn't even raise his head.
"I do hope you have a good reason for barging, unannounced and most especially uninvited, into my private chambers," Snape said in a voice that was so falsely sugary that if the Baron were still corporeal would have given him gooseflesh.
"Tonight, you will be visited," the Baron intoned in what he hoped was a voice worthy of the seriousness of the situation, "by three ghosts."
Snape raised his head at this and stared at the Baron with dreadfully cold eyes. "I was under the impression that you possessed much more respect for the staff than this. I have not asked you here, nor do I want you here. Get out of my rooms."
The Bloody Baron, brave and fearless, faltered. "I... I can't. I have to tell you that tonight, you will be visited–"
Snape rolled his eyes. "You've told me that. Therefore, you've done what you had to do."
The Baron cleared his throat. "Yes, but... this is important."
Snape blinked and, realizing he wasn't getting out of this in a timely fashion, made an absent mark on the parchment and asked, "Who are the other two, then?"
The Baron frowned and shook his head. "No, three. Three ghosts."
"Four."
If the Baron could have stomped his foot, he would have. "What are you going on about, Snape!"
Severus merely blinked again and at last laid down his quill atop the essay he was marking. "If I am to be visited by three additional ghosts, my tally for the evening will be four total, won't it."
The Baron's mouth opened, shut, opened, and shut once more. "Aren't you frightened?" he finally asked.
Snape picked his quill up once more and glared up at the Baron. "Of what, ghosts?" When the Baron couldn't form a reply to this, Snape continued. "I see ghosts on a daily basis. In fact, I see more ghosts in a day than I really care to, so rather than frightening me, you are doing nothing more than annoying me."
The Baron cast about as if looking for something to help him with his case. "I... but... well, fine, three more ghosts will visit you tonight, four total."
Snape nodded in a placating fashion and bent his head to return to his work. "And why, then, will I be forced to endure three more visits?"
The Baron floated closer. "Why d'you think it is Slytherin has so many ghosts about? Not just in the castle, but all over?"
"I don't play guessing games," came the curt response.
Finally, the Baron floated down and forward enough so that his head bobbed just above the parchment on Snape's desk. "You can't be a cold, cruel, selfish, heartless arse and still earn the right to bid farewell to your earthly confines!"
Snape's hand came down hard on the desk. "I will not listen to this rubbish!"
"Why d'you think I'm still here, eh? Certainly not by choice."
Slowly, Snape reached for his wand. "You have until the count of three to leave me in peace."
Hastily, the Baron made his retreat until he hovered at the door to Snape's chambers. "All right, all right, no need to get testy about it." He paused, still hovering, and Snape's eyes narrowed. "Just one last thing. You can expect the next ghost tomorrow night at one, the second the night after at two, and?"
Snape raised his wand and the Baron sighed and floated through the door, calling, "And the last the night after that at three!"
From the hall, the Baron heard something heavy hit the door. Sadly shaking his head, he sailed down the hallway. "Stupid git."
At his desk, Severus tried desperately to go back to marking up the parchment with satisfying sarcasm and lovely red ink but found he didn't really have the mind to concentrate anymore. With an irritated sigh, he laid down his quill a little harder than he'd meant to, rose from his chair, and stalked off to his bedroom.
Something had woken Severus up, though at first he wasn't sure what it was. He'd always been a light sleeper–grown even lighter especially since his stint with the Dark Lord–and now, he was straining his ears.
Giggling and shushing, coming from somewhere outside in the hall. A twisted smile spread slowly over his face. He recognized the voices. Or at least, one of them.
"Potter," he whispered happily to himself as he threw the covers back, already calculating just how many points he ought to take from Gryffindor, when his thoughts were interrupted by a long, distant chime.
Snape was just reaching for his wand when the door to his room flew open.
"Stupefy!" Snape shouted, and was surprised when the spell went through the figure standing in the doorway to ricochet off the far wall of the next room.
Of course, he thought sardonically. The first ghost. Even his mind's voice said it with a sneer.
"What the bloody hell are you doing!?" the figure demanded.
"I was trying to?" Snape began in a tone dripping acid. But something clicked. He knew that voice. He knew that voice all too well.
And so, it seemed, this phenomenon worked in reverse, too.
"Oh, Merlin's beard," muttered the figure, sounding disgusted. "Severus Snape, is it?"
Severus closed his eyes for a moment and failed miserably at keeping the look of loathing from his face.
"James Potter."
James slid a finger and thumb underneath his glasses to rub at his eyes. "Bollocks," he swore softly. "Well, nothing to be done about it now, Snape. Might as well get this over with."
Severus' wand still aimed at James, he scowled, too filled with loathing for the man to be anything close to frightened. "Get what over with? I thought sure you'd be living it up with your mutt by now. Or is that what this is? One last shot at me?"
James heaved a sigh. "Severus..."
"Professor," he corrected icily.
Potter looked surprised and then snorted. "Severus, I've seen you in your underpants. There's no way I'm calling you 'Professor'. Now listen, I am–"
"Still giving orders, are we?"
"Still a right bastard, I see. Though I suppose if you weren't, I wouldn't... well, never mind that. I am the–"
Snape glared at him. "Quit babbling to yourself, Potter."
"I'm trying to explain!" James exclaimed, frustrated. "Now then?" He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. "I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."
Snape blinked once, twice, three times.
"Really, Potter, is death that boring?"
James folded his arms. "Look, it's a job, isn't it?"
"Not much of one."
Now it was James' turn to scowl. "Those who can't do, teach, eh Severus?"
Snape resumed glaring. "Potter, when you die, you are supposed to leave the living alone. I was under the impression that I'd have at least another eighty or so years to enjoy the absence of your presence. Now, if you please," he finished, waving his wand toward the door.
James rolled his eyes. "You can't dismiss the Ghost of Christmas Past. Come on, then. Let's get this done."
"Potter, I'm not going anywhere with y–"
But it was too late.
In the span of time it took Snape to get properly incensed, they'd already gotten to wherever it was they were going.
"You could have let me get dressed first!" Snape hissed, staring down at his nightshirt.
James rolled his eyes. "Would only have taken you a sodding hour, all those buttons," he muttered. "Besides, nobody can see you."
Snape raised an eyebrow and James thought a moment. "'s like a Pensieve, see? We're in your memories."
"I suppose I should have expected it. It's becoming a rather common affair for people to go poking around in my memories. Like father, like son. Nosy little brats, both of you."
James' face closed up, eyes narrowing, mouth thinning. "Don't talk about Harry that way."
Snape snorted. "Or else what?" Severus asked. "Or else you'll haunt me?"
With an icy glare, Potter gestured toward the window they were standing next to. "Stop being such a git and relive this so I can get as far away from you as possible."
Severus held James' glare for a moment, just long enough to make sure Potter knew he was not going to take orders from anyone, and then slowly moved his gaze to look through the glass.
And frowned.
"This is my family's house."
Potter rolled his eyes. "If you hadn't been so concerned with being an arse, you would've noticed that when we got here."
Inside, Snape watched in silence as his mother and father entertained a room full of somber-looking witches and wizards. It was quite obvious that this was a party of sorts, but other than the house elves making rounds with drinks and finger foods, it looked entirely free of festivity.
"It's Christmas Eve," James said, not looking at Snape.
"I know," Snape replied, uncharacteristically quiet, as he stared at his teenage self through the window.
Not much had changed about Severus Snape in the twenty or so years that had passed. Inside the house stood a dark-haired, sullen looking eighteen-year-old with the same prominent nose, glittering eyes, and permanent scowl that the man outside possessed.
Well, one thing had changed, Snape thought, absently touching his left arm.
He could hear the voices inside, a dull droning hum, and then his younger self was walking right toward them. It was an odd sensation, watching yourself walk toward you, and Snape had to work very hard not to take a step backward. The younger Severus stood at the window a moment, arms folded, gazing out at the soft snow falling, before raising the window a crack.
"It was too warm inside that night," Snape murmured to himself and James, for once, stayed quiet.
And then a man's voice, from somewhere inside. "Severus! We've someone we'd like you to meet."
"My father," Snape whispered as a forbidding wizard made his way through the crowd, another wizard a step behind him.
"Severus Snape," his father said in a formal voice, "this..." he paused and took a step back as the other man took a step forward, "...is Lucius Malfoy."
"Seen enough?" James asked.
Snape's head whipped around quickly and he felt suddenly defensive. "How should I know if I've seen enough? Isn't that your job?"
Potter merely raised and lowered his eyebrows. "Well, there's the answer. Come on, then, one more stop."
Snape had just enough time to blink and then they were... He felt his stomach clench. They were at a meeting. And not a meeting of the Order.
The sea of hoods was astounding, and James' face twisted into an expression of fury. "Look at them all," he spat, and Snape, for once, did. "Christmas Eve, again, if you hadn't realized."
The two men watched the crowd in silence for a moment longer, and then James made a noise of disgust. "You watch this yourself," he ordered Snape in a dangerous voice. With that, he turned and left Snape to stand in the middle of the room, unnoticed, in his nightshirt, watching the start of something horrible.
"Any ideas on who the Potters' secret-keeper might be?"
Snape closed his eyes, but he knew what came next regardless.
He knew whose hand went up in the air.
"Enough," he whispered to himself, and when he opened his eyes next, he found himself back in his bed, alone, and exhausted. Quite against his will, he was very suddenly asleep.
The bells chiming two were what woke him, and he bolted straight upward in bed, wand at the ready.
"Lumos," he said softly, and the room was illuminated in soft light.
Eyes darting from one corner of the bedroom to the next, he fully expected to see Potter reappear. In fact, he really wished Potter would come back, as he had a few choice words to tell the man about this whole matter.
But no one appeared.
Snape sat in bed for another quarter of an hour, waiting. It would be his luck that this was all some sort of elaborate prank meant to keep him from sleeping.
Then he heard a noise from the next room, and his gaze sharpened. Slipping out of bed as quietly as possible, he pulled on his outer robe over his nightshirt and walked toward the door, gripping his wand tightly. His hand was on the door handle when he heard a boisterous voice from the other side of the door.
"Come on in!"
He cursed himself for jumping and wondered why he was doing what the voice had told him to do when he really ought to be very suspicious of a voice that had managed to get into his rooms unnoticed.
He pushed the door open and held out his wand, illuminating the room.
"Come in and meet the Ghost of Christmas Pre–"
A stunned pair of gray eyes met Snape's black ones.
"This is cruel and unusual!" Sirius Black shouted at the ceiling.
Snape was equally thrilled. "First Potter, now you," he sneered. "I should have known you'd still be trailing after him like a little puppy."
Had Sirius not been a ghost, he would have landed the punch squarely on Snape's admittedly target-worthy nose. As it was, his hand simply went through Snape's head. Snape stared at Sirius for a moment, surprised, and then smirked.
"Still not very effective, I see."
Sirius shut his eyes, obviously trying to compose himself. With effort, he launched into what was no doubt his prepared speech, as he rather rushed through it. "I am the Ghost of Christmas Present, you have never seen the likes of me before, come and look upon me, and know me better."
Snape gave a blasé sigh. "Are you quite finished?"
Sirius glared. "Look, Snivellus, do I come 'round and make fun of your job?"
Severus leaned forward a bit. "You made fun of everything else. I don't see why not."
Black muttered something that sounded like, "miserable bastard" and jerked his head toward the door. "Let's get this done with."
And once again, Snape barely had a chance to blink before he found himself standing next to a Christmas tree in a curiously-decorated living room, surrounded by tinsel, floating fairy lights, enchanted snowflakes, and redheads.
"Weasleys," he murmured, saying the word as if it were a curse.
Sirius gestured expansively. "The Burrow. Christmas–"
"Christmas Eve, yes, I noticed the trend, Black. I'm not an idiot."
"Could've fooled me."
Snape was ready to let the whole thing degenerate into another battle of words, but at that moment, there was a knock on the front door of the Burrow and the gaggle of Weasleys hurried toward it. Sirius' face brightened and his eyes softened.
"Harry," he said, mostly to himself, and then his godson was standing there, arms full of parcels.
"Harry!" the Weasleys were exclaiming, and both Sirius and Severus fell silent and watched.
Harry carefully put the presents underneath the tree and commenced the round of hugging and handshaking.
"We didn't know if you'd be able to make it," Ron was saying around a mouthful of what looked to be chocolate cake. "Stuck with Snape. Ugh."
Harry shrugged. "He gave me Christmas Day off, 's long as I'm in early the next day."
George scoffed. "Honestly, it's just a stupid school detention. If he thinks he's more important than the holidays, then that greasy git–"
"Fred," came Molly's warning tone.
"Oi! I didn't call him a greasy git!" Fred exclaimed, startled out of a game of Exploding Snap with Ginny.
"No," Ginny replied, "You call him a flaming a–"
"Fred!" Molly exclaimed, scandalized this time around, though the rest of the room dissolved into laughter.
"Well, I hope he has a merry Christmas, rotting down there in his dungeon," Ron muttered. "To Snape," he said, raising his glass of eggnog (and surreptitiously raising a finger on his free hand).
Sirius glanced at Severus who, instead of looking ready to spit fire, was instead looking somewhat subdued.
"Are we quite finished?" he asked Sirius finally.
Sirius watched Harry a minute more, now bending over a chessboard, Ron on the other side. "Yeah," he replied, sadly, and lingered just one more moment, long enough to say softly, "Merry Christmas, Harry", before turning to Snape. "One more stop."
Snape opened his mouth to say he didn't really want to make one more stop, but he'd only gotten to "I don't" when the scenery shifted again and they were standing in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.
Snape looked at Sirius, wondering if Black had known this was where they were going to appear next. He guessed, from the resigned look on Black's face, he had.
Seated around the kitchen table were several members of the Order of the Phoenix: Nymphadora Tonks, Mad Eye Moody, and Remus Lupin.
Sirius stared at the table for a few seconds and then turned away quickly. "You stay here, and watch," he told Snape, his voice sounding strangely thick, and then he was gone.
"Tonks, aren't your family missing you tonight? It is Christmas Eve," Lupin was saying.
She shrugged. "Probably glad I'm not there, actually. Knocked the whole bloody tree over last year and squashed a perfectly good fruitcake."
Lupin tried to hold back a chuckle, and Moody snorted. "Fruitcake's never perfectly good. Starts out bad."
Severus was surprised to feel himself start to smile at Moody's joke.
"How'd you get stuck here tonight, though?" Lupin asked her. "I thought Severus was supposed to be here."
This was news to Snape.
Tonks shrugged again. "I thought maybe he'd like to spend the holiday doing... whatever it is he does. He's done more missions for the Order in the past month than I've done in a year. Needs a long vacation, I say."
Snape blinked, startled.
Lupin sighed, then, and Severus braced himself for a nasty retort to this that never came. Instead, Remus put his chin in his hand. "I guess if I were that tired all the time, I might be a bastard, too."
Moody grunted what sounded like an affirmative response.
Lupin went on. "If I'd known he wasn't going to be here, I would've just dropped this off at the castle." He was referring to a very old book sitting on the kitchen table.
"Wha's that?" Moody asked, magical eye swiveling wildly to get a better glimpse.
Lupin held it up. "Ninety and Nine Uses for Asphodel. Figured after all the wolfsbane he's made for me, the least I could do was get him something for Christmas."
Tonks scratched her head, this evening decked out for the holiday festivities, long red waves with stripes of green and gold. "Too bad he hates everyone. He can be right funny when he's not being an arse."
Snape's eyes widened. He'd been under the impression that his colleagues hated him as much as his students. He didn't hate everyone, either; that was a grievous overstatement. It was simply easier to be... not nice. He'd been working both sides for so long that being nice to anyone was simply too taxing.
The table was silent a moment, and then Moody raised his glass of... Severus peered into it... milk? "To Snape," he said gruffly, and the others raised their glasses as well.
Toasted twice in one night.
"Must be a record," Snape murmured to himself, closed his eyes, and suddenly found himself back in his bed once more, still wearing his outer robe and too exhausted to take it off.
"Potter, the least you could do..." Snape began, opening his eyes as he felt someone hovering over his bed.
He trailed off as he realized he was no longer in the presence of James Potter.
And although he was not entirely certain in whose presence he was, he quite certainly knew in what's.
"I take it you're the Ghost of Christmas Future?" Severus asked the slumped, hooded figure, raising an eyebrow.
The ghost made no verbal reply, but nodded minutely.
Snape, not afraid precisely, but a bit unnerved at the mute apparition, went on. "And you are no doubt here to show me things that are to come?"
Again, the spirit nodded.
Snape waited, and the figure made no move for nearly a minute until finally, it extended one long robed arm toward Snape, held it there for a moment, and then, as before, Snape found himself out of bed once more.
But this time, they weren't in some strange location, but at Hogwarts. Nearby, a slightly grayer Minerva McGonagall was in conversation with a man that Severus had never seen before.
"Too cold for Quidditch practice these past few weeks," the man said. Snape frowned. He must have taken over for Hooch. She'd been saying for years she wanted to retire. Snape supposed she'd finally up and done it.
McGonagall nodded, a bit listless. "Unseasonably cold," she agreed.
The man gave a little shrug and then asked, "Who's taking over his classes?"
"I have asked Remus Lupin to come and fill in for us until we can find someone more permanent."
Snape gave a little start. Lupin? No doubt they were talking about the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.
The new instructor nodded and then quietly, quickly, as if he wasn't exactly sure he should be asking, inquired, "When d'he die, then?"
Die? Someone died? Well, the Defense Against the Dark Arts position did have its risks.
"A week ago. A shame, really. He was by himself." Minerva's gaze grew a bit cloudy. "Hardly a soul at the funeral, either. A shame."
The man just shrugged. "Brought it on himself."
McGonagall gave him the glare she often reserved for impudent students but said nothing. Snape meant to stay and listen to the rest of the conversation, if at the very least to find out who died, but he found himself being moved along, walking next to the spirit.
Severus glared at the dark hood, then squinted a bit. The figure backed up. Snape advanced. And at last...
"Quirrell?"
The figure shook its head adamantly, and Snape rolled his eyes. "You are, without exception, as bad a liar as Potter," he said, referring to Harry, although he supposed upon reflection, it suited the elder Potter as well.
To his surprise, however, he said it relatively without menace.
The figure's shoulders slumped a bit and, with a resigned sigh, it lowered the hood to reveal the pinched face of the former Professor Quirrell.
"It doesn't do for people to go 'round trying to guess who I am," Quirrell murmured petulantly. "I'm supposed to be the scary one, reformed ghost or not."
"You would strike more fear, I'm sure, with better posture." Snape paused. "Reformed?"
Quirrell gave an enigmatic little smile. "Much like you, I imagine. Although I suppose it's easier for the dead to renounce Lord Voldemort than the living."
Snape's eyebrows lowered. "Indeed."
Quirrell blinked uncertainly at that, then drew himself up when he thought Snape wasn't looking. "Well, er, there's something else you should see."
And then they were standing back in the Weasleys' living room, and instantly, Severus knew that this wasn't a light-hearted holiday gathering. Ginny and... Severus blinked... Hermione were sitting next to each other on the sofa, both looking very weepy. Ron was pacing, the twins were sitting on the floor, subdued, Bill, Charlie, Molly, Arthur, all of them standing around or sitting and saying nothing.
"It's all his fault," Ron finally grated out.
Molly went to her youngest son, put one hand on his shoulder. "Now, Ron..."
"No! No, Mum, it is, and you know it! If he hadn't–"
To Snape's horror, he saw Ron's eyes fill with tears and suddenly realized what felt off about all this. There was no sign of Potter.
Ron was going on though. "It's his fault that Harry..." Ron couldn't even get the words out anymore but he was still talking despite that fact. "Tried t-to... kill... Y-y-you-Know-Who."
Molly tried once more. "We all miss him, Ron, but blaming–"
"Don't tell me it won't do any good! It's the truth! When the battle started... of course Harry didn't trust him, Mum! Not after all those years of treating him like rubbish!"
Ginny gave a little sob and Arthur went to put an arm around her. "Ron–"
"I hate him! He got Harry killed, and I'm glad Snape's dead!"
Severus actually reeled and stared dumbly at Quirrell. "Me? I'm... I'm the one who... and I got him killed?" he whispered.
And to his horror, Quirrell nodded. "Yes. It was a terrible battle. Potter, Dumbledore... quite a few people fell."
Snape felt a hot rage beginning in the pit of his stomach. "Dumbledore, too?"
Quirrell nodded. "Yes, well, you did try and convince Harry to come with you, but being surrounded by a ring of Death Eaters wearing your robes didn't exactly make you seem trustworthy, you know. Thought you'd lead him right to the Dark Lord. Ironic that his next move landed him at the Dark Lord's feet. After he took care of Harry, well, winning The War was easy."
If it was possible, Snape paled even more than usual. "Then... then..."
"The Lord Voldemort returned to power shortly after that."
"No," Snape said, shaking his head. "That is not possible."
It couldn't be. All his work for Dumbledore and the Order, against the Death Eaters, against Voldemort, all of it couldn't be in vain. Everything they'd been working for, all of those who had given so much... And this was all because of him? He would have to endure knowing that Voldemort had returned because of him?
Quirrell looked as if he wanted to reply but said nothing. Snape stalked toward him. "It isn't possible!" he shouted at the ghost. "Tell me I can change it. Tell me!"
Quirrell shifted, as much as a ghost could shift.
"TELL ME!" Snape roared, blindly lunging at Quirrell. Of course, his hands didn't close around the fistful of robes he'd been expecting. Instead, they closed around a handful of sheets, and Severus realized he was in his bed once more and the bells were chiming seven a.m.
Morning.
Snape stared dumbly at the sheets in his hand and thought it again.
Morning!
Snape leapt out of bed and was rather pleased to find himself still halfway dressed. He definitely needed to have a conversation with Dumbledore as soon as possible, and, he admitted, all those buttons just couldn't be bothered with right now. Flinging open his door so hard it rebounded off the stone wall of the dungeon hallway, Severus found himself face-to-face with one of the first-year Hufflepuffs who was obviously trying very hard to make himself invisible.
"You!" he exclaimed and the little boy jumped, cowering against the far wall.
"I'm sorry, sir!" he replied immediately. "Professor McGonagall told me to take this way back to the Great Hall because it was faster, I'm sorry, I tried to be quiet!"
Snape blinked for a moment and then shook his head. The boy's eyes widened tenfold and he shrank back even further. "What's your name?"
"Ch-ch-charles," the boy said in barely a whisper.
"And what day is it?"
Charles trembled, wondering how many points his answer would cost his house, no doubt. "It's Christmas Day, sir."
Christmas Day. They'd done it all in one night, and it was a wonder that he didn't feel more exhausted than this. In fact, he didn't feel exhausted at all, but relieved and... he paused to examine the feeling... happy.
Severus Snape, happy. Who'd have imagined? And on Christmas Day. The perfect day to start everything over.
Leaning down closer to the child, he raised an eyebrow mischievously.
"One hundred points to Hufflepuff," he said with as much of a smile as he could muster. He was, after all, woefully out of practice.
But at that, Charles gave in to the fear and tore off down the hallway at a run with Snape's voice--"And to Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw!"–echoing behind him.
Snape shut the door to his quarters and set about getting dressed and making plans. He would pay a visit to the Weasleys of course, and eat Christmas dinner with the staff, and he'd have to get Lupin something for Christmas... bloody hell, he'd get everyone a present...
As Snape mentally made his to-do list, the ghosts of James Potter and Sirius Black hovered outside the windows of the Great Hall, watching as the jewels in the hourglasses flew, watching the surprised faces of the staff and the handful of students that had remained for the holidays as they all turned to watch the shift, watching Charles come flying into the Hall shouting about how Professor Snape had lost his mind, and smiled.
"D'you suppose that's got it, then?" James asked.
They watched a few minutes more, just long enough to see Snape come bursting in, grinning madly and causing the few students present to scatter to the far sides of the Hall.
Sirius chuckled as he watched Snape, still grinning, talking animatedly with Dumbledore while the staff gave each other confused glances. "Merlin help them."
James nodded, smiling. "Every one."