This journey gave Severus some more time to think to himself. Airborne, dar above the trees and rooftops, he reached out to remember the night he had turned away that pleading poor man... and realised that the one instance he had returned to this night had not been the only one. Was this shame he was trying to force from his mind? What, then, was the point of showing him Lucius's party?

'I had friends!' thought he, trying to come to terms with that nagging inner voice. ' I obviously wasn't that ill-off..."

'Yes, you had them' it said to him. 'Once upon a good, honest, non-greedstricken lifetime,' he pushed this too from his mind, only it took a tad more effort than the other times.

"Oh Snape? We've arrived," said Myrtle in her little voice, tinged with mockery but tears. They landed on the snow, upon the lawn of another richly-laid home. It hardly looked familiar, though...

"Hmmm? You don't recognize it, do you?" she asked. "This will be your nephew's house. Of course, you wouldn't know, never having been there yourself...and look!, here's the statue Mr. Lockhart was so proud of, the one he wanted you to see." She turned and flew to the window as Severus stared at the statue. There was the figure of his very own blood relative, standing proud and tall upon a base which splurted words honoring him of bravery and good deeds. Severus stamped and stated,

"Hmmm! Good deeds indeed!" Myrtle beckoned him to the window and said,

"Something you never accomplished..."

The rising mental voice began to say 'never say never', but instead Severus grumbled...

"Please, little girl, I'm tired of gazing through these windows... go back to playing dolly and kindly leave me be."

A blow to the head struck Severus with such wonder at the strength of such a young girl- spirit or not. Instead of snapping back, he started,

"Why..." she turned his head to the window. Inside he saw a light on, a gas lamp... ("spoiled rotten, little overpaid bastard").

"You just may feel differently at the next stop", Myrtle said. He ignored her jeer and instead fixed his gaze upon the elegant oak table and many chairs. Upon the table were glasses of buttered rum, hard cider, and champagne. The festivity was evident throughout what he could see of the dining room, with the wreaths and boughs speckled with red berries hanging over the doorways and upon the walls. Of the many chairs at the table, only two were occupied.

His nephew sat at one, his wife opposite him. They each lifted a glass, Gilderoy pausing to propose-

"A toast, to my dear uncle. May the holiday spirit somehow find him...please..." his proposal turned into a bit of a prayer - "cheers." His wife reluctantly sipped the drink. Fingering her glass, she wondered aloud,

"Why do we bother, Gilderoy? Each year, the same old wasted concerns. Roy dear, the man is a humbug, plain and simple. He never changes. Men like him don't. We can't expect more than a 'take your Christmas and leave me be', I'm afraid." She whipered, "Roy...you know this." Her husband sighed and explained,

"Yes, yes, I was just hoping...for..."

"A Christmas miracle?" she taunted. Gilderoy, however, knew that would truly be the only way his uncle would even consider greeting them with a "Merry Christmas."