Chapter 39: Halloween

A/N: I'm very sorry that it's been so long since I posted. Life turned into a perfect storm of disasters this year. But I'm back now.

A big thanks to collaborator Very Small Prophet for the rock opera segment!

XXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Halloween, with the terrible memory that it held for Severus, had come again. As always, Severus felt miserable, but at least his shipmates celebrated a bit differently, decorating the ship in 'Day of the Dead' fashion. There were mountains of marigolds everywhere, and decorative pumpkins were replaced by decorative skulls made of sugar and amaranth. It looked different than the Halloweens that he remembered and that helped a bit.

On the designated night, gifts and memorials for lost friends and family members were created in the mess hall. Seabiscuit brought cakes decorated with skulls and put out bags of sugar, flour and spices for everyone to use. Katfish transfigured imaginative fish-shaped sugar cookies, and Captain Clark created lovely sugar sailboats. The two passengers, who were from Belgium, liked the idea and joined in eagerly, adding their own creations to the display.

Severus waited until everyone had left before he approached the table. Quietly he transfigured a sparkling sugar-rose for his mother. Then he created a sugar-snake for his fallen Slytherins, and after a few moments he added a sugar-badger and sugar-raven. It took a bit of will power before he could add a sugar-lion, but he forced himself to do it. Gryffindors weren't all bad, theoretically at least, and many of them had died in the war, but he made a mental note that the lion was absolutely not for James Potter and his minions. They'd called themselves 'The Marauders', but he'd always called them something much worse.

His thoughts turned to Albus for a few moments, but he didn't create a memorial. The old man had got more than enough from him in life, and he'd got precious little in return. Some genuine respect, or even a sincere 'thank you', would have meant so much to him at one time. But more importantly, why hadn't Albus warned him about that 'Elder Wand' business, or left some kind of documents to prove that Severus was actually working for the Order? And why did he expect mere children to find the horcruxes, fight the war, and die for the cause? The Headmaster had used him, and everyone else, too, with little or no regard for their lives. What would have happened if the old man had lived, he wondered? What if he hadn't blundered into that fatal curse? Severus wasn't sure that he wanted to know.

He sighed then and created a lily. He had made such a fool of himself over her in his student days. Especially on that terrible day. There he was, hanging upside down, helpless, and she was … she was using it as an opportunity to flirt with James Potter. Flirt! He could hardly believe what he was seeing and hearing, but he couldn't deny it. How long had this been going on? How long had he been in denial?

In his shock he had called her that terrible name then; he couldn't stop himself. But later he couldn't stop himself from languishing by the Gryffindor entrance, hoping for the chance to apologize and beg for her forgiveness. He finally got that chance, but there was no forgiveness, and he'd been a laughingstock for weeks afterward.

He had thought she was his friend and believed that she respected him, and the truth had cut him to the bone: she had used him. Painful thoughts of her haunted all of his waking moments, and of course he couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat, either. Finally he realized that it was destroying him, like an addiction to a bad drug, and it had to stop. He twisted his skill at occlumency to the task, forcing himself not to think of her. It had been terribly painful and taken all of his will power, but he did succeed. After a while he even convinced himself that he didn't see her whenever she walked by, which happened way too often, because at Hogwarts there was no way to avoid her. There was no way to avoid attacks by James and his goons, either, but he got progressively better at spotting their 'pranks' and ambushes and fighting them off.

Time passed. He dated a few girls, had some fun, joined the Death Eaters, and was finally getting a bit of respect and recognition, even from the terrifying Dark Lord. Especially from the terrifying Dark Lord. He was very proud of that fact, back then. But then came the prophecy, and the child. And then came that fatal Halloween.

The memories came flooding back and he shuddered. He had tried as best he could to save her, but he had failed. So he let his mind turn her into an ideal, a guiding light to help him do what he believed he had to do. And somehow that ideal had kept him going through the long years of misery, pain and horror that had followed. Thank Merlin he didn't need that any longer, but the after-effects were still hard to cope with at times.

He picked up the delicate white lily. He shouldn't have made it. Maybe he should destroy it. But she had been his friend when they were young. It had been real in the beginning, and if she had abandoned him for someone else later, that was her choice. Potter was a very poor choice, in his opinion, but Severus knew that he would have been an even worse choice. He put the lily back on the table and retired to his cabin.

It was many hours before he was able to fall asleep, and when he did, he dreamed of Hogwarts. He was striding through the halls past small groups of smiling students. He heard a young witch in Gryffindor robes whisper, "He was so brave! He faced death countless times and never faltered."

"And cunning," said a Slytherin. "He fooled the Dark Lord, and everyone else, too."

"Most intelligent," murmured a Ravenclaw.

"Hard working and loyal," whispered a Hufflepuff.

Severus turned sharply. "Why are you people loitering in the halls when you should be studying?" he snapped.

"Sorry, Headmaster!" one of them said, and then they all fled toward the library.

Feeling strangely contented, Severus resumed his journey.

Then he woke up.

What utter rot! he thought. My life at Hogwarts was never anything like that.

His dreams about Hogwarts had long been nightmares, until recently when they'd mysteriously shifted to these disgustingly nice fantasies.

These dreams can't be coming from my mind, he realized. There's something very odd going on.

He cast a suspicious look at Fawkes, but the bird was asleep on his perch with his head resting peacefully on his wing.

I'll have to investigate, he thought, but it's not urgent. Then he turned over and went back to sleep. It was difficult to object to having pleasant dreams, after all.

The cakes and sugar-sculptures were gone when he went for breakfast. He didn't believe for a minute that the spirits of the dead had taken them. Seabiscuit had probably cleaned them up, and Fawkes had probably eaten more than a few. Severus didn't ask.

Biscuit handed him a plate of scrambled eggs, sausages and toast, and he poured himself some tea. The latest copy of the Daily Prophet was on the table and there, on the front page, was a story about the upcoming masquerade ball at Hogwarts.

"Have you decided to go to the ball yet?" the cook asked casually.

"Don't be absurd," Severus snapped. "You can't even begin to imagine the trouble that would ensue when they saw me."

"But it's a masquerade ball, so you'd be in disguise. The won't see you, they'll see a mysterious stranger. And the ball isn't until New Year's Eve, so we have lots of time to come up with a great costume. Muggles disguises can be very effective and they don't wear off like glamours, so you'll be safe all night."

Severus just gave him 'that look' and said, "No one is going to go anywhere near Hogwarts, and that's final."

"Okay," Biscuit said, "it was just a suggestion," and he headed back to the galley.

But as he dug into his breakfast, Severus recalled his dream. Could someone be sending him absurdly pleasant dreams about Hogwarts? If so, what did they want from him? They were probably trying to lull him into a false sense of complacency before something nasty struck. He really ought to find out before it went much further. And unfortunately, the best way to investigate would be to go to Hogwarts, and the safest way to do that would be to attend the ball.

He frowned. Like it or not, he would have to give it serious consideration.

He picked up The Prophet and started to read about the ball. It was being sponsored by Lucius to raise funds for war orphans (and to cleanse his reputation and restore his standing in the community, of course). It would be a grand occasion, absolutely everyone, important or otherwise, would be there, and blah blah blah blah ...

He turned the page to find a photo of Tracey Davis and her band. They were calling themselves Parslemouth now, and they were going to play at the ball and preview some songs from a rock opera that they'd been creating. He'd heard them practicing a few times in the Slytherin common room in the old days, and he had to admit that they'd actually become pretty good. It might be interesting to hear them.

Then he saw the name of the rock opera: 'The Half-Blood Prince'. He was so stunned that he almost fell out of his chair.

XXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Hermione thought her explanation to Harry about their life debts to Snape had gone fairly well, considering. She was just glad Harry hadn't asked why Snape had gone to the Shrieking Shack at all when he had obviously already figured out that Remus was a werewolf. That would have meant explaining how she had learned that Sirius had tricked Snape into believing Lily was in danger, so he went to the Shack intending to rescue her. And that would mean talking about her conversation with Anthony Goldstein and Tracey Davis about their rock opera, which was based mainly on rumors and stories about young Snape known only in Slytherin House.

And that would mean explaining that 'Looney, Wormtongue, Piddles, and Horns' were the villains of the piece, and that 'Horns' was the worst villain of the bunch who lured 'the Prince' into believing 'Asphodel' was in danger in a deliberate attempt to have 'Looney' kill him. She didn't think Anthony's abstract discussion about the requirements of dramaturgy and the difference between 'artistic truth and 'literal truth' would go over well with Harry.

"I had hoped for something a little more nuanced myself," Anthony had said. "I thought 'Piddles' should be behind it, like he was in real life. Then 'Horns' could realize at the last minute that they'd gone too far. You know, like Pinkerton in the last act of Butterfly when he recognizes what a cad he's been. But everyone else in Parselmouth is a Slytherin, and they're not in the mood to be nuanced about Gryffindors."

Tracey had just said, "I'm not Puccini."

Hermione wondered what Tracey and Anthony knew about dramaturgy. It certainly wasn't taught at Hogwarts. She had to admit, though, that the introductory song for the four 'Vandals', still a work in progress, was shaping up pretty well:

Hey, hey, we're the Vandals!
And people say we vandalize,
But we're too busy prankin'
To be cut down to size.

We're just tryin' to be funny,
Come and watch us bully and hex.
something-something-something,
We like it more than sex.

In a way Hermione was glad they were still tinkering with that second-to-the-last line. She didn't want to think about whatever Tracey and Anthony decided it was that the Marauders liked more than sex.

She wished there was some way to keep Harry from finding out about the rock opera. It was going to upset him terribly, and Ron, too. But sooner or later they were bound to find out. It was inevitable. She'd just have to deal with the fallout when it happened. Harry and Ron were both adults now and they'd just have to cope, wouldn't they? But she certainly wasn't looking forward to it.

Collaborator's Notes: Yes, Tracey knew exactly what she was doing when she turned Wormtail into Wormtongue. She's a half-blood who has read Tolkien many times, and does not think Dumbledore has anything in common with Gandalf except the length of his beard.

Madama Butterfly, by composer Giacomo Puccini and librettists Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica, was first performed in Milan in 1904. It tells the tragic story of a Japanese teenager who is married, impregnated, and abandoned by an American naval officer, and is one of the most popular operas in the world.

[Theme from] The Monkees is by Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart, and was recorded by the Monkees and various studio musicians in 1966. Very Small Prophet is embarrassed to admit she was a fan of the Monkees when she was in junior high. Especially Very Small Davy Jones.