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 6
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, was a corridor. Unlit, filled with pain and despair. Slowly his senses began to return, and he discovered he was walking the corridor, following the dark spectre.
Without a word – a grim yet fresh change from the incessantly chattering elf – it raised a bony hand and a door opened. In the absense of light Snape could only make out the outline of its fingers and could not say for certain if there was any flesh on top of the stick-like limb.
In they walked, as silent and somewhat non-existant observers.
It was a scene that brought a lot of memories to Snape. He had been on the giving end of such treatment on numerous occasions, and his gravest fear was that he himself might face his demise at such a terrific gathering.
Black candles flickered in an endless chamber decorated with alchemic symbols. Black-clad figures, both men and women, with expressions of malice, faced a forlorn and horrified-looking young man in the middle. Potter again.
Snape swallowed and dared himself to glance at his escorting ghost. It nodded, face hidden by the low-hanging hood of its robes. Its eyes were not visible, yet Snape knew exactly when it was looking at his. His skin prickled and he felt the Dark Mark awaken in burning agony and the powers he had turned his back on stirred somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind; tempting, seducing.
Potter lay on a crumpled heap on the floor, raising his head shakily. He was no longer a boy but a young man. He had an arrogant gait but the hunch of his shoulders betrayed his feelings – they told of a man aware of his impending doom only moments away.
The circle of Black witches and wizards included many Snape knew personally. Malfoy, The Lestrange woman. And Allendon, who was raising his wands towards Potter – Snape had to admit he felt sorry for the lad – and wearing a triumphant smile.
"For the last time, Potter, who is he? Just a name, Potter, nothing more, it is not as though we are asking you to hand him over – or her, at that matter – to us in person. Just a name," –he played with a word as though it was a sugar-coated daffodil – "For the one who has been disclosing the Dark Lord's deeds to Albus Dumbledore. No more begging of mercy, no more lies, Potter. Just a name."
Snape closed his eyes. This was about him. If Potter said his name, it would be the end. He would die at the hands of Voldemort.
The dark, cloaked figure behind him was certainly the Ghost of Christmases Future, and if this was the future, he did not want to know. If he heard the words, he decided he would take his own life. He would not die via the Kedavra. Never. No matter his dark deeds worthy of Azkaban, he did not deserve this. Noone did.
His eyes flew open. Potter's cracked lips parted, and he turned to his accompanying ghost, panicking. He was too frightened of the scene to fear for the spectre anymore, and now dared to stare into the darkness within its hood.
"WHO ARE YOU! REVEAL YOURSELF!"If he could distract the ghost, the scene would perhaps halt, and he would be spared from hearing the words that were capable of draining his life out of him.
The ghost nodded and slowly, its hoods coiled down to reveal a skeletally pale, worn and thin face. Snape found himself staring into the hollow eyes of... himself.
The ghost was him, ten years on top of his current age. It looked dreadful, pitiful, and suddenly Snape no longer feared it. Instead, a rebellion rose within him.
His hand lunged for its face, ready to tear it, push it into a wall, anything to stop this.
But his fingers clutched thin air and the ghost slid into shadow like ripples on a pond. Panic-stricken, Snape turned just as Harry Potter's defiant eyes bore into those of his adversaries, and he prepared to hear the word that would condemn him.
But it never came. Potter smiled wearily, and uttered a single word; "Never."
Then the world dissolved in blackness again.
Snape awoke in his own bed. For a moment he was unwilling to open his eyes, fearful of discovering he was still in the presence of ghosts, but something told him this was not the case.
Sunlight filled his rooms.
He literally leapt out of bed, his thoughts in a flurry. He checked his standing clock by the doorway – it was the morning of July 23th! In a few hours the students would be leaving for holidays. All except for Longbottom and Potter, perhaps.
He almost ran out of his chambers before remembering it was perhaps not dignified for the Head of the House of Slyhering to run around in a nightshirt, so he quickly changed into his robes and after tidying the mess he'd created upon swallowing down a haste breakfast, he left the Slytherin tower and headed for the Gryffindor one.
The Fat Lady proved quite a worthy adversary, he had to admit. He did not have the password nor did he care to inquire it from McGonagall. But he had to get in. Luckily the exasperating Weasley prefect – Percy? – had agreed to let him in.
He found Longbottom snoring on the big commonroom table, ignoring the gobsmacked expressions on the faces of about a dozen Gryffindor fourth-years, and rapped his knuckles onto the table. Longbottom was startled awake and he nearly fell of his chair when he opened his eyes and found himself staring into the almost blackishly brown eyes of Severus Snape.
"Prof.. Professor Snape, I haven't... I mean, Sir, I haven't finished the essay yet, it's just that—" He was panic-stricken and normally the fact would have provided Snape with quite a lot of delight, but the accursed ghosts had deprived him of this. Oh well.
He decided to set his words carefully. He did not want to appear as an old softie either. "That is quite alright, Longbottom. I do understand you have certain... obligations on your holidays. I am willing, just this once, to let the essay go."
Longbottom looked as though all his birthdays had come at once and Death himself had walked in with a neatly wrapped gift.
"However," Snape added, trying to add a bit of a charming snarl to it but to no avail – "I am expecting a marvelous fifty inches of parchment upon your return to Hogwarts." He turned on his heels and left the Gryffindor tower, hearing Longbottom mutter a very polite "Yes, Sir" behind him.
As he walked down the stairs, he could hear cheerful yelling from the tower. But his work was not yet done. Potter was left.
His chance came later that evening. Potter had not travelled to Surrey to visit his Muggle surrogate parents, so Granger and the second-to-youngest Weasley had stayed behind to keep him company. They along with a handful of other staying students lounged to dinner just as most of the staff were already gathered around the faculty table.
Snape was late. He'd been working – correcting a set of exams and the lousy marks thereof were making his blood boil. The second-year brats wouldn't know what hit them come Spring term.
When his candle flickered out he decided he was ready for a large portion of turkey and some wine, perhaps.
In the Great Hall he spotted Potter and his two friends sitting in the middle of the Gryffindor table, chattering loudly.
"—He's gone bonkers, positively, George told me, he'd been there when Snape stormed into the common room—"
Snape grinned as he slowly promenaded down the hall, listaning intently.