Disclaimer: see first chapter
A/N: And so here is the end, the finale, the grand slam-bang finish. On Christmas Day. YAY! Thanks for the ride! Also, this chapter is a bit dark. Which, if you know the story, you already know, but still. Dark. Creepy. Tell your friends. We also quoted copiously from the original A Christmas Carol, because it's honestly at its best at the end, with the most dramatic and perfectly worded moments.
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Chapter 3
For a long moment, in the cold, silent darkness, Snape stood alone, waiting.
Then a rustling sound came from behind him, and he spun to face a dark-hooded, silent figure.
"Who… are you?" Snape asked, falling back a step.
The figure said nothing, merely stretched a hand out towards Snape. A thin, pale, long-fingered hand, with jagged, uncut nails emerged from the sleeve of the over-long robe, a hand that was eerily, unplaceably familiar.
Snape turned, again, and found himself in the streets of Hogsmeade.
Unlike the last time Snape had stood in these streets, it was raining. A cold, drizzly rain that always finds its way under your coat and freezes you instantly.
Two figures, bundled against the cold, stood just outside the Three Broomsticks, preparing to head off down the road.
"Did you hear about the death up at the castle?" one of the figures asked, and Snape recognized the voice as the same student who had been so viciously complaining about the Potions Master not too long ago.
"Yeah, and it's about bloody time the bugger kicked the bucket," the other figure huffed, revealing herself to be the other student from that bright sunny Christmas Day.
"Pity it had to happen on Christmas, though," the first responded, although he didn't sound as though he really meant it.
"Not really. Means we don't have to do the assignment, eh?"
They both burst into laughter, and headed off back towards the castle.
Snape gulped, eyeing the Ghost beside him with trepidation. "I understand, Spirit. The case of this unhappy man might be my own. I–"
Before Snape could say any more, the figure pointed again.
The scene around them shifted, and Snape found himself in Borgin and Burkes, in Knockturn Alley.
Filch, the caretaker of Hogwarts, was standing by the counter, holding a bundle of books tightly to his chest. "Look, I don't have all day," he grumbled at Borgin, who was standing behind the counter. "I've got to get back before they notice I've gone."
"Yes, I imagine the Headmistress wouldn't be too pleased with you," Borgin sniffed. "Stripping the corpse before it's cold, and all that. What do you have for me then, Filch?"
"I got 'is books," Filch said unnecessarily as he deposited his bundle on the counter. "Whole bunch of them, likely full a' dark magics and things like that, eh? Should be worth a few Galleons at least. And if you don't want 'em, I know where there's a whole load of other buyers."
"No, no, I'll take them," Borgin said quickly. "Let's see… ohh, yes, I haven't seen this one in a good while…. I'll give you thirty-four Galleons for the lot of them?"
Filch frowned suspiciously. "I think I could probably get a better offer from Lucius Malfoy…."
"Thirty-seven, then, and not a Knut more," Borgin said brusquely.
"Done," Filch sneered. Money exchanged hands, and as Filch made for the door, he paused, and snickered, "It's too bad. Bugger's whole life boils down to thirty-seven Galleons, eh?"
Borgin laughed. "Most people usually make it up to at least forty."
Filch snorted, and left.
Before Snape could say another word, Borgin and Burkes faded, quickly replaced with a little house in Hogsmeade, one that Snape knew very well indeed.
"Oh, no," he said quietly, seeing an empty chair by the fireplace, and a child-sized crutch carefully set beside it. "He didn't…."
Footsteps came from the kitchen, slow, plodding footsteps, and Snape was surprised when Lysander Longbottom entered the room. In Snape's admittedly-limited experience, Lysander never did anything slowly.
The small boy slumped onto the couch by the window, and rested his head on his arms.
Luna, obviously hearing her son's arrival, came in from another room. She bit her lip at the sight of Lysander, and quickly sat down beside him.
"You alright, love?" she asked softly.
Lysander didn't answer, merely turned to his mum and buried his face in her shoulder. She held him close, and whispered quietly in his ear.
The front door opened, revealing a gaunt-faced Neville.
"Hello, Luna," he said heavily. "Hi, Lysander."
Lysander didn't look up. Luna met her husband's eyes with a sad smile. "How were things up at the castle?"
"Fine," Neville said quietly, sitting beside the two remaining members of his family. "They had the funeral service for the Professor today. It was… well, you know."
"Under-attended?" she supplied with a bite to her voice.
"Yes," Neville nodded. "I, uh. I went by the cemetery on the way home. Left some flowers with… I left some flowers."
Luna nodded, her eyes going bright with unshed tears.
"Lorcan's dead then?" Snape asked quietly. The spirit beside him nodded once, and then everything faded, once more. When their surroundings resolved themselves, Snape shuddered.
They were in a graveyard.
"Why are we here?" Snape asked shakily. "What does this have to do with me?"
The spirit pointed silently at the headstone before them, standing before an open grave, both covered with a slight dusting of icy snow, obscuring the name on the stone.
Snape walked hesitantly forward, and reached out a shaking hand to brush away the snow and read the name inscribed on the grey marble.
SEVERUS SNAPE.
"No," Snape whimpered. "Oh, no, no, no. No, this… this can't… Tell me this can be changed?" he begged, turning again to the Spirit behind him.
The spirit was silent.
"Please, I've learned my lesson. I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, Present and the Future. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Please, tell me I can change this!"
The spirit took a step back, and then the skeletal hands reached for its hood. As the hood fell back, revealing the red-eyed, noseless, corpse-like face, Snape staggered back in horror.
He tripped, and, with a scream, fell backwards into the grave.
And landed, with a thump, on his own bed.
The bed was his own, the room was his own, the drapes and blankets and rugs were his own! Best of all, the time before him was his own, to make amends in!
Snape stared blankly for a moment, and then began to laugh. It may have been laughter with an edge of madness to it, but it was laughter nonetheless.
"It's all still here!" he cried, staring with delight at the bookcase by his bed. "It hasn't happened yet, I can change it! I can stop… I can change things!"
He sprang to his feet, racing around the room as he threw himself into his clothes, hopping from one foot to the other, all the while laughing semi-hysterically.
The laughter only grew stronger as he stared in awe at the calendar before him.
"It's Christmas Day! I haven't missed it! The Spirits did it all in one night. Of course they did! They can do anything they like, they're spirits!"
Snape paused in his mad laughing and leaping, and said, "I should… I should go to dinner at Draco's. And then, and then come back here, and do what I can to come up with some sort of… of potion, for Lorcan. Yes, of course, it won't take me too long to find out what to do! I'm brilliant, after all. And I'll give Longbottom a raise, and I'll stop giving out Christmas homework, and… and all sorts of things like that!"
Snape left his rooms, making for the fireplace in the Great Hall which was commonly used as a Floo-station now, and then paused, making a detour towards the kitchens. "I'll get the house-elves to make a turkey for Longbottom! And then I'll bring it, no I'll send it over! He won't know who sent it!" Snape chuckled to himself as he walked towards the kitchens, nodding at everyone he passed and even smiling at the students.
And so Snape proceeded to the kitchens, ordering the largest turkey in the British Isles to be sent to the Longbottom house down in Hogsmeade, and then Floo-ed himself to Malfoy Manor, where he spent the afternoon being sociable and relatively pleasant to the astonished Malfoys and their guests. Granted, it was almost impossible to be pleasant to Cynthia Corner whenever she spoke, but Snape very nearly managed it.
The next day, Snape entered his office at eight o'clock, doing his best to get there before Neville so he could catch him coming in late. Sure enough, it was 8:10 when Neville's hurried footsteps were heard outside in the corridor. Neville slipped quietly behind his desk and began to work.
"Mr. Longbottom, what do you mean by coming in at this time of day?" Snape asked, attempting with success to keep his usual sneer in place.
"I-I'm sorry sir. My family was celebrating l-late last night. I over-s-slept a b-bit," Neville stammered, "It won't h-happen again, sir."
"No, it won't, Longbottom. I won't stand for any more of this. And therefore…" Snape stepped forward and pointed his wand ominously at Neville. "…Therefore, I am going to raise your salary!"
Neville stared at him as Snape started to laugh. His hand reached into his pocket for his wand, prepared to stun Snape immediately if he should suddenly attack Neville in madness.
"A happy Christmas, Longbottom!" cried Snape, and Neville, who had been starting to feel genuinely alarmed, lowered his wand a bit. There was such earnestness in Snape's voice that Neville couldn't help but grin nervously. "A happier Christmas than I have given you since you started working here!" Snape continued. "Cast a warming charm, Longbottom and light the lamps! And tonight we will discuss your affairs and I will endeavor to assist you and your family, all over a hot supper, with your entire family invited if you like! I want to see your son, Lorcan. I may be able to do something for him if I can see the boy. A happy Christmas, Longbottom!"
"H-happy Christmas, sir?" Neville replied warily, still not entirely sure that Snape hadn't gone off his rocker at last.
"Happy Christmas!" Snape cried again.
And Snape was as good as his word and better. He did it all. And to Little Lorcan, who did not die, Snape became something of an odd uncle. He became as good a man as some people had ever known. Some people (mostly Ron Weasley and his brother George) laughed to see the change in him, but Snape didn't really care about them. He was happier than he had been for a very long time.
He never saw Bellatrix or Voldemort again, and only saw Lupin and James after he died. It was always said that he knew how to keep Christmas well… or at least OK.
May that be said of us, and all of us. And, as Lorcan Longbottom observed, "God bless us, every one. And may we ward off nargles!"
…
A/N: Alright, that's it! And no, Snape didn't go through the whole 'complete personality reversal' that Scrooge did, because then he would no longer be the Snape that we all know and… er… love? Like, at least. And the line 'God bless us, every one' is just too classically 'A Christmas Carol' to pass up!
COMING SOON: How The Filch Stole Christmas, and the admittedly crack-tastic, barrels of silly, completely off its rocker version of A Hogwarts Christmas Carol, featuring madcap lunacy and babbling fools galore!
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT! Or evening, depending on where you are!