This story is NOT to be archived anywhere besides Potter and the affiliated trademarks are property of JK Rowling. I am not making money with this so call off the bloodhounds.

The Holiday Spirits

by Heidi Ahlmen (siirma6surfeu.fi)

Chapter 2

"And why is that then?" Snape crossed his arms. Fear was not what he was feeling anymore. Indignation at being lectured by a ghost had prevailed over that emotion.

"Because of what I have done I remain walking this Earth. Such a fate awaits you as well if you do not mend your ways. It will be difficult, but the means might not be as drastic as those that cost my life."

Alright then, he was listening. Even if he didn't buy this bollocks the fact that Artemisia had decided to visit him was a sight in itself. Snape liked apologies when he was at the receiving end. Forgiveness did not belong to his trait but he could well listen to groveling.

"I take it you remember what happened between us. But I doubt you know the end of my story." Without pausing to ask whether he was interested, the ghost carried on, "After you volunteered for the killing of Alandra came the muders of James and Lily. I could not stand it anymore. The Aurors were weak, effortless, so I decided to fight the Dark Lord and his minions in the most perilous of ways – by joining the Death Eaters and wreaking havoc from within. But I was too worn down by the grief and thus could not keep up the pretense. I was tortured and murdered by Voldemort. Personally. But in addition to this the Dark Lord deprived me of my soul as well. And this he has vowed to do to all who cross him. They're coming for you sooner or later, Severus."

Snape opened his mouth to argue, but was not given the chance. The ghost stepped closer, enclosed his hand in its feathery one and stared into his eyes with almost empty sockets. Only a faint light, dim as a muddy river, remained fixed on him.

"You are making enemies at an alarming rate, Severus. Any one of them could be the vote that turns your fate and leads you into the Dark Lord's hands. Any one of them. You must stop this alienating from the world, Severus."

Snape tore his chilled limb from the clutch of the ghost. "Who are you to offer me only these vague hints! If you want to help me you ought to offer something more concrete." Not that he was admitting to needing any help.

The ghost stood silent for a moment, not the least bit of perplexed by his outburst. No emotion played on its pale features. Visibly not much had remained of the Artemisia Dollop Snape had known. The she spoke quietly. "I can not force you forward. You must see it all in your own way." Suddenly the ghost glanced at the clock and began to speak more swifthly, as if in a haste; "Three spirits will visit you tonight, Severus. They will show you. I must go now. I bid you farewell and hope that our paths never cross again, for if they do I shall have failed."

With these words she began to fade away into nothingness. Snape stepped closer to do anything, to stop her, to ask some more questions, but soon she had disapparated and he was all alone.

Minutes passed and the clock chimed a quarter of an hour before midnight. Snape stood, perplexed, and finally dared to move. He returned to his desk and sat down – the comfort of the familiar surroundings helping him to exorcise the feeling of loneliness the ghost had left in its passing.

Artemisia Dollop. Truly a ghost from the past.

She had been in Snape's yearclass and caught his eye. She had also been one of the only girls in Hogwarts at that time who had taken any interest in her. But it had all been on a friendship-built level. As they had learned to know each other more thoroughly Snape's heart had slowly began to ache for her but her eyes had been fixed at a different direction – James Potter.

Who else. The arrogant rascal who wore and stole female hearts just to discard them like worn robes at his slightest whim. Artemisia had been one of his conquests, one that Snape had never been able to forgive – so blatant had the way in which he had stolen her been. Snape had made the mistake of admitting his feelings to another student whom he had mistaken for a friend. He had turned out to be something quite different later on – had spilled the beans to James who had been more than willing to use them to his advantage just to spite Snape.

After graduation Artemisia soon parted ways with James who was then settling down with Lily, another classmate. Snape had not had any desire to seek out Artemisia again – James had not been solely to blame in the situation. Artemisia had been a strong-willed Slytherin, and unless she had not condoned James' actions no affair would ever have surfaced.

Snape had joined Voldemort. So had Alandra, Artemisia's sister. Alandra had soon failed a task to the Dark Lord and had been ordered to be disposed of. Snape had indeed volunteered, and made sure the identity of the killer was brought to Artemisia's attention. He had not learned of the nature of her reaction, nor had he known what had become of her afterwards.

He was unwilling to admit he had felt a pang of guilt at the sight of the ghost but he had. Now that he still floated halfway between his Death eater past and his unwavering loyalty to Dumbledore he was unsure which of his regrets and emotions were due to the Black Arts and which ones genuine.

Artemisia remained a ghost because of something she had done – wasn't that what she had stated? Was she referring to joining the Death Eaters in the first place or some atrocity performed under the Imperius Curse? To Snape it did not really matter. His own past withheld quite a list of those. Even a longer list than Artemisia's. It was unlikely that anything could save him from the wrath of the Dark Lord.

The clock chimed hollowly again, startling Snape. The coldness had not disappeared. Instead, he began to shiver again as another wave of frost seemed to slither into the room from under the door and between the cracks in the walls.

Artemisia had promised him three more ghosts. Oh well. Better act along, then. He stood up, correcting his robes. "Come out, come out wherever you are," he hissed into the darkness. It was probably useless to light more candles – the deathly draft would likely put them out.

He did not have to wait long. He heard steps, then a crash and some cursing. Soon a robed figure walked into the moonlit area near where Snape was sitting. Moonlight – the landscape charm certainly seemed to have a sense of drama.

It was a man a few dozen years Snape's senior. The ghost scrambled to his feet – it had tripped over Longbottom's cauldron – and recognition dawned on Snape's face, combined with confusion. "Dumbledore?" he inquired in disbelief.

The old, scruffy-looking ghost of a wizard grinned widely and patted dust off its robes. "I," it began with a theatrical wave of his hands and a bow, "Am the ghost of Christmases Past. This form is merely an imitation, chosen due to the fact that Albus Dumbledore is one of the only people you ever take good advice from."

Snape snorted.

"But without further adue, we shall go." The wizard dug out a bag of something that seemed to closely resemble floo powder, sprinkled it onto himself and Snape, and suddenly the room began to spin. Soon it turned into a swirling furnace of forms and lights.

They endured this pandemonium for a few moments before falling feet-first onto freshly fallen snow.

Snape patted snow off his robes and shot the ghost a dirty look. To his suprise they had not left Hogwarts.

They were standing outside the West towers in the darkness. The ghost began pacing down an almost snowed-in path towards the castle. Snape caught up with him, annoyed. "I can't really see the relevance of this stunt. We could've just taken the West corridor."

The ghost grinned. "We have not only moved in place, but in time as well. Promenading down a corridor would have not helped in that respect."

"Nor can I see what this has got to do with Voldemort—"