Part 5
Severus stumbled through the thickening fog like a blind man. He could see large, still shapes looming in the distance, but beyond that, he had absolutely no idea where he was. He cursed himself for having dropped his wand when the second spirit had pulled him through the fireplace, but he also knew that there was no sense in whinging about the unfairness of life, especially not when he knew he'd doled out more unfairness to those around him to last a lifetime.
He jumped as a large tower clock tolled twice, and his head turned towards the source of the noise to find the yellow backlit face of the clock hanging in the frigid darkness like an artificial full moon.
Severus shivered, his arms instinctively pulling round his thin frame in an attempt to fight the chill. It did little to assuage his suffering, though, and soon his teeth were chattering terribly.
He turned violently around as a figure, impossibly tall and enshrouded in mist, suddenly appeared behind him, and Snape found himself stifling a cry of terror. Misery and a horrible, aching numbness filled his chest until he found it hard to breathe.
It was a dementor.
He fled. Stumbling and falling onto uneven stone, Severus ran with the single minded determination of a wizard without a wand being chased by a soul sucking fiend from hell.
Which, of course, he was.
But, no matter how far and how fast he ran, or how tightly he rolled himself into a ball under the thick, misty fog that rolled like a living thing up to his knees, whenever he turned around, the creature was behind him.
It extended a bony finger as Severus panted, his back pressed against an icy brick wall.
"Well?!" Severus screamed, nearly hysterical. "If you're going to suck out my soul, you'd better do it quickly before it freezes!"
Slowly, the shrouded head moved from side to side.
"No?!" Severus yelled, his voice nearly as broken as he felt. "No?! Are you trying to tell me that I have no soul at all?! Surely my pain and suffering at seeing and understanding the wrong I have done has meant something to altering the course of my fate!"
The figure did not speak. Instead, it crooked its finger and bade Severus to follow it.
"Y...you...you're the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, aren't you?" Severus hated how his voice quivered, but there was nothing for it.
The figure nodded ever so slightly and Severus sagged with relief, even though he still felt frozen to the bone. Anything was better than the thought of coming so far only to be left a soulless husk...or worse…
Severus followed the spirit as it silently hovered over the misty smoke until it cleared ever so slightly and he found that the were suddenly in the heart of Diagon Alley, though he could not say how they had come to be there. Severus could see from the cheery displays in the windows that it was Christmas, but it was a Christmas that he soon realized he would not be seeing much of as the spirit led him around a corner into Knockturn Alley, which was quite poorly lit and dismally adorned with only the sparsest trimmings of holiday spirit. They lingered amongst a number of stalls, their stooped and many-layered owners standing about and rubbing their hands together over a rubbish bin that had been set ablaze, as their Warming charms seemed not to be doing nearly enough to mitigate the biting cold.
"So, 'ave you 'eard the news?" One man, with a large, bulbous nose that looked as though it was filled with snot, said to the others.
"Eh, I don't know much about it either way. Alls I know is that 'e's dead, an' that's good enough reason to celebrate," said a fat woman with a hairy wart on her forehead as she pulled out a bottle wrapped in brown paper.
The others murmured happily as drinks were poured for all, and a tall woman with broad shoulders spoke next. "Anyone know what'll become of 'is money?"
"Well, 'e's not left it to me, that's for sure!" said a man with a massive chin that made him look almost comical.
This prompted a roar of laughter from the entire group, and Severus wondered exactly why the spirit would find such a scene to be important for him to view. After all, this was the future, and it couldn't be Dumbledore who they were speaking of, even though the man had most definitely not been a friend to the denizens of Knockturn Alley. His death had long since faded into the past, for this was a future even further along than the present Severus resided within, and, other than the three objects left to Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, it was well-known that Dumbledore had left his remaining assets to Hogwarts, though few of them had any monetary value save the pensieve.
Severus looked around, wondering if he might see himself in some improved situation, perhaps providing jackets, mittens and hats to the homeless, his situation much changed from that which he'd accepted for so many years. Upon seeing no one fitting his likeness, Severus began to imagine that perhaps that his absence was a good sign- that he was far from this dismal place with its dismal, drunken people and their raucous laughter.
The spirit pointed again, leading him down the alley until they reached an obscure little street that managed to be even dingier and cheerless than Knockturn Alley
There were banks of snow piled up next to the side of a rundown building, which, from the sign at the front, appeared to be a place where one might sell cloth, metals and other oddments for a price. Three figures moved in different directions and at different paces through the cold night air, their bodies laden with bags and lumpy objects slung over their backs.
"Why are we here?" he asked the spirit. "I cannot see what I might learn from this."
Instead of replying, the spirit placed its frigid, bony hand on his shoulder and they floated through the wall of the building as though it were insubstantial.
"Come on, come on," said a gruff, stout man, who had more hair growing from his ears and nostrils than he had on his head. "What do we have here, then?"
The first to enter the shop was a stooped, older woman, whose face was wrinkled and whose milky colored eyes blinked rapidly through thick lenses as she slung the sack that had been thrown over her shoulder onto the floor instead. Her shape and face made her look very much like a mole wearing a patterned dress and kerchief. Another woman, who appeared to be built much like a stick insect, her straw-colored hair pinned up in a bun, entered moments later. And finally, a short man with a curled mustache entered last, a rolled-up carpet slung over his shoulder like an oversized pop-gun. All three looked at each other with bewilderment for a few long moments before simultaneously bursting out laughing.
Severus could not see what was so funny. He did not think that he knew any of the three people or the reason for their merriment, which galled him, but he stayed the judgmental words stewing in his belly and waited for them to continue speaking.
"Why, we all met here without meaning to! What a happy accident!" the first woman said, clasping her hands together.
"Quite right, Mrs. Fletcher!' the man guffawed, "though I think we all probably wished that we could have come sooner, isn't that right, Miz Deerborne?"
The tall woman nodded, her thin lips drawn up in an indulgent smile. "Well, I figured that 'e wouldn't be using them any longer, being dead an' all. Might as well make use of them, wouldn't you say, Mr. Maddigan?"
"Hear, hear!" the man laughed, his large nose and red cheeks giving him the appearance of a young Santa.
"Besides, if he'd been anything less than a miserable old cuss with zero redeeming qualities, he might have had someone willing to look after him instead of dying alone and choking on his own vileness." Miz Deerborne shuddered, her expression sour.
"It's the truest words that ever were spoke, I tell ye," Mr. Maddigan said with a sage nod.
"Well, I think that he deserved a bit heavier judgement considerin' the way he acted in life," Mrs. Fletcher said with a sniff. "Well, then, since I was first, I might as well show yeh what I brung. C'mon, then, Joe, take a look at it and let me know what 'tis worth."
The man with the epic nose and ear hair sniffed and came around his podium with an appraising eyepiece in hand.
"Let's see it, then."
She nodded and dumped out the bag, which contained a bunch of dark fabric onto the floor.
"Is this...bed curtains?" Joe sniffed, going down on one knee and holding the fabric up to the light. "And...blankets...his blankets?"
"Well whose else do you suppose they'd be, then?" Mrs. Fletcher had her hands on her hips with exasperation.
"And...the nightshirt?" Joe held up something gray and wrinkled.
"Aye, and you can look the whole thing over and you won't find a single threadbare place. They would have wasted it by dressing him up in it, if it hadn't been for me."
Severus stared in horror at the scene. The clothing and the blankets had obviously been stolen from a man's deathbed, but no one seemed to care a whit. If anything, the chuckles and knowing looks from the other two individuals indicated that they too had plundered from the man with zero remorse for their actions.
"I see." Joe did some measurements with his hands and folded the material neatly. "Well, the quality of the cloth is quite high, so I could likely sell these at near-new cost to the clothier I contract with. I'll give you a Galleon and five Knuts for the lot."
Mrs. Fletcher clapped her hands and smiled gleefully as she shook his hand to seal the deal.
Severus turned back to the spirit, which waited, silent, behind him.
"Spirit, please tell me that you are showing me a man whose life would have ended similarly to my own had I not promised to change, which I assure you, I shall," Severus said, his heart skipping a beat with the sinking sensation that he knew exactly whose things they were.
Instead of replying, the Spirit pointed behind Severus, and he turned, the scene vanishing like smoke as he beheld a dark room, the mattress stripped and the curtain rods bare save a few silver rings that had been left behind when they'd been torn down. A corpse lay on the bed wearing only a pair of gray underpants, its limbs blue and rigid with rigor mortis. The head and face was in shadow, but Severus could not bring himself to step closer and behold the face of the poor wretch. Rather, he was filled with an almost frantic terror at the prospect of doing so.
"Please, Spirit!" he implored the dark spectre, "Show me a bit of tenderness and love connected with this ghastly image! Please, do not let this be the last thing I see while I walk at your side!"
The spirit gave no reply, but crooked its finger and led Severus through the mist away from the bed until they came to a door that Severus instantly recognized.
"The Burrow!" he exclaimed, hoping that perhaps he would be able to see some happiness here.
But alas, this was not to be. For everyone inside was wearing black, their face somber. Ron Weasley sat by the fire with his older son and daughter, his eyes vacant as he stared at the fire instead of the Wizarding Chess set that had been placed on a little table. Cho Chang sat by his side, holding his hand, but she might as well have been a million miles away for all the attention he was paying her. The children were playing against one another, but their manner, too, was still rather subdued. Molly burst in from the kitchen, all nervous energy and a red face that made it obvious that she'd been crying recently. She clasped her youngest son around his shoulders and Ron's eyes filled with the tears that had been threatening to come.
"Mum, don't squeeze me so," he choked out, his voice husky, "it makes my eyes water."
The house, which had been full of laughter and light was now silent as a grave. There were many people milling about, but none of them spoke, their bodies slumped in defeat as though they were walking wearily under a great weight.
"And so, he greeted death like an old friend," said George softly, reading from a little book near the window.
Severus knew those words- they were familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on where he'd heard it before.
"'Mione will be back soon, Mum. I can't be like this when she gets here," Ron said, wiping at his face with his sleeve. "I've got to be strong for her. She's carried him for so long...and almost every day, she came to meet him until the very...end…."
Ron heaved a heavy sighing breath, his eyes watering again.
The door opened and Ron stood, running to Hermione and nearly knocking her over with his embrace. "I'm glad you're back."
Hermione smiled, but the expression didn't reach her sad, tired eyes. She was gentle and pleasant with all who greeted her, and as she took the empty seat by the fire, her older children stopped and sat, their cheeks pressed against each of her knees as they gazed up at her and tried to give her words of comfort.
"Mum, please, don't be sad," they chorused. "We're here; we're still here!"
But Hermione shook her head and refused to air her grief, instead asking about the chess game and praising Hugo's use of the Digby Defense.
"It's beautiful," Hermione said, turning to Ron. "You really must come and see the green hill. There is sun and shade and...I promised him I'd come every week if I could...My Mortimer...Tim...my child….my little b-boy..." Her words began to break apart as she balled her hands into fists and tried to stop the tears from coming in vain. She broke down, bending at the waist for she could no longer hold herself upright as the pain of her loss washed over her body.
Severus ran to place his hand on her shoulder, his chest bursting with sorrow for the boy and his family, but his hand passed through her as though he were a ghost.
"Surely there is something that can be done!" Severus shouted at the spirit, who stood, unmoving, near the wall. "Surely little Tim does not have to die and leave his family before his time! Please! If nothing else, at least tell me these shadows may yet change to something brighter! That I may not end up like that unnamed man….left to rot alone in a dismal room! Tell me! What is my fate?! Show me, damn you! Show me!"
The spirit crossed its arms and closed the distance between them, its hooded head looming over Severus menacingly.
And then, it pointed behind him.
Severus turned, and beheld the most wretched of graveyards he'd ever seen in his life. The headstones were cracked and broken, lichen and mosses covering nearly every bit of stone until the markings upon the marble were obscured or illegible. It was obvious that this place was rarely visited, and cold rain poured down upon them both like daggers made of ice. The spirit pointed again and Severus turned back, suddenly afraid.
"Please, at least answer me this. Are these the shadows of what WILL happen, or merely shadows that show what MAY happen? For I would like to know if there is hope of changing them...no...I must believe that they can be changed, for what reason would you show me these horrific visions unless they might be altered in some way?" Severus knew he was practically groveling, now, but he didn't care anymore.
The spirit merely continued pointing and Severus turned, his head hanging in resignation, to look upon the grave that the spirit had indicated, only to turn back and grab the hem of the spirit's robes and look up, tears filling his eyes.
"Please, Spirit! Give me some hope that I may make amends with those I have wronged, that there is still time for me to change and become a good man in the eyes of those who know me! I do not think that I can bear the thought of ending my days like that wretched man...a man that I do not, under any circumstances, wish to be!" Severus trembled, but he still followed the path of the spirit's skeletal finger across the headstone- the headstone that bore his name, just as he'd known all along it would. "I shall change! I swear it! For what is the spirit of Christmas but keeping love and kindness in one's heart when times are lean and difficult? In fact, I'll do you one better, Spirit, I will promise to keep Christmas in my heart all the year, if I might change the course of these shadows and sponge away the horrid writing on this cursed stone!"
He pulled at the shroud fervently, his voice growing strained until he croaked out the last few words, his body shaking with fear and horror. But then, a curious thing happened. The fabric grew loose in his hands and the spectre dwindled, shrinking down upon itself until it was but a circle of gray upon the ground and Severus nearly cried out as the mist cleared away leaving him staring up at his bedpost. He looked down to see that the fabric that he held so tightly in his hands was the fabric of his duvet, and the horrible graveyard was nowhere to be seen.
"I...I'm home..." he croaked, his eyes fluttering momentarily before opening wide with excitement. "Home! I'm home again!"