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 4
The window itself did not look at all different, but the curtains were drawn. And Snape never drew the curtains. He could only remember one occasion...
He groaned. "Not this, I beg you, ghost. This is over and dealt with."
The ghost simply shot him an unsociably dirty look, snapped his fingers, and suddenly they had entered the castle and were standing in a dungeons corridor. "Getting impatient, are we?" it scowled, and literally pushed Snape into his own office.
This he did remember. It was the unlucky occasion during which Harry Potter – the utter gall of the brat! – had dared to gaze into Dumbledore's pensieve, and got an eyeful of Snape's memories. There had been a good reason as to why he had decided to discard these particular memories, and Potter had known it. He must have. Snape still boiled with rage as he watched the boy peek into the pensieve and watch himself being humiliated by James Potter and his ilk once again.
After awhile Snape had to close his eyes for seeing himself again – now in his adult form and giving Potter the icy bollocking the boy had badly deserved – seemed to make him feel slightly disoriented.
When the office was empty again, Snape turned to the ghost. Oh, how he wished he had his wand. "You mellowing hypocrite obviously consider Potter's acts righteous! I have had it with you. I did not invite you. Out of the goodness of my heart I followed you into this pandemonium and the only examples you have prepared for presentation are this trivial!"
The ghost shrugged cheerily, and the ubiquitous finger-snap came again. But this time the ghost disappeared and Snape found himself alone in Dumbledore's office. He pat dried leaves off his robe, and prepared to leave the rooms to return to his chambers, but froze when he heard footsteps echoing away from the office. He peeked out into the corridor, and to his great surprise saw the backside of Dolores Umbridge – of all people – disappearing into the West staircase.
He must still be dreaming. Oh well. At least it wasn't for the amusement of that exasperating phantom anymore. He ought to be sacked.
Footsteps again. This haunting business was getting tedious. This time it was Potter – no suprise here- who snuck quickly into Dumbledore's office – he even knew the password. The little bugger.
But Potter wasn't in his usual arrogant state of mind. Instead, there were deep shadows under his eyes and he seemed worry-laden. Snape remembered how Umbridge had caught him in the end, after finding out the boy was trying to contact Sirius.
Potter knelt before the empty fireplace and Fawkes the phoenix let out a recognizing squawk. The boy ignored him, grabbed a handful of floo powder from a decorative box on Dumbledore's desk, and threw it into the fireplace. Soon green flames licked the stones, and a contact with Sirius Black was established.
Snape yawned. Listening to Harry Potter talking to his outlaw Godfather was not his idea of an interesting pastime. But his opinion soon changed as Harry explained his business to Black.
Snape suddenly gasped for air. This he had not known about. He hadn't had the slightest idea... The boy had actually risked both his neck and Sirius' only to ask him if they truly had been vicious to Snape. What did Potter care? The only reason Snape could imagine him wanting to discuss the matter with Sirius was to gloat and have a good laugh at Snape's expense, but for such a reason Potter would not have taken such a risk. And the look of shock and deep disappointment on the boy's face – begrudgingly Snape had to admit that Potter truly seemed to care. He sounded furious... at his father and Sirius!
Snape tore his eyes away from the boy, more confused than he liked to admit. As he turned away from Harry Potter the scene dissipated in mist, and he was alone in the Potions classroom again.
Snape had been promised three ghosts. And it did not take long for the second to arrive. As a matter of fact, it had already been waiting for him in the minerals & miscellanious ingredients cupboard when he apparated back. Snape lit a few candles, deep in contemplation, before even noticing the clattering noise the spirit was making.
Soon the door opened quickly with a clatter, and a house elf tumbled out. He had been feasting in Snape's store of sugar in the closet, no doubt.
"Let me guess. You're the second spirit, sent here to test the limits of my patience."
The elf got his feet planted on the ground again, and looked up at him in that worshiping way they always did. "Oh Sir, I do not mean to test the Good Sir's patience. I am only here to take good Sir to the Gryffindor tower."
"You must be one educated elf," Snape scowled.
The creature stared at him in a way that spoke of confusion.
Snape decided for a more charitable approach. "I meant that you can use a pronoun when speaking of yourself. But let us not waste anymore time. You can go. I know my way to Gryffindor tower perfectly well," he assured. It wasn't like him to be civil to house elves, but Snape only wanted this over and done with. And bantering with an elf would certainly not aid at all.
"Oh but Sir!"
Snape cringed.
"Sir does not know the password, and I must apparate good Sir to the tower. It is written so."
"Is it now?" Snape cocked an eyebrow. His usual luck to be stuck with surplus spirits.
The elf snapped its fingers in the same fashion as the Dumbledore ghost had done as though trained to imitate, and Snape considered it no suprise to find himself in the Gryffindor tower.
Longbottom sat beside the window, looking dire and gazing out into the darkness of the lakeside.
"What is he doing up? He should be in bed, trunk packed for the holidays. Prefect Weasley does not seem to be up to his duties. I shall speak of this to McGonagall-"
"Shh!" The elf whispered, and suddenly looked very apologetic. It must've been horrible to him, commanding a wizard instead of being commanded.
Longbottom walked to the commonroom tables, picked up a roll of parchment, and threw it into the fire. He did not seem furious, only resigned.
The elf turned to Snape. "Good Sir Longbottom can not go home, Sir. Good Sir Longbottom has not finished his Potions essay and has not got enough time. Miss Granger tried to help, but good Sir, not even Miss Granger could write thirty inches in such a time. Now Good Sir Longbottom can not visit his parents in St. Mungo's."
Snape tried to keep himself a cynic, tried to convince himself that the agonies of a student did not touch him. But they did. But he did not feel obliged to indulge in the issue with an elf.
The elf scuttered to the now waning fire in the fireplace, and poked the ashes with a toe. The remains of Longbottom's essay smoked, half transformed into ashes.
"Are we free to go now?" Snape enquired.
The elf shot him a rather exasperated look, thought for a minute, and then shook his head determinedly. "Good Sir still doesn't understand, so I must break the rules a bit here. Good Sir must see. It is not my work description, the future, that is , but it is Christmas, after all..."
The elf snapped its fingers, and they disapparated, only to appear in a white corridor a split second later.
"Where are we now, if I may ask?" Snape sighed. It seemed that fury simply would not roll the wheels with these ghosts, so he could just grin and bear it.