Stave Two: The First of the Three Spirits

Snape was jarred roughly back to wakefulness by a bell tolling one. What was with the bells, anyway? There were no bells in his chambers! He rolled over in the middle of his big bed and tried to get comfortable again. Why was it suddenly so cold?

Abruptly, the green curtains surrounding his bed were drawn back by a slender hand, and Snape found himself face to face with Minerva McGonagall. He stared at her in shock. She was dressed rather oddly in a tunic of purest white with a beautiful sparkling belt encircling her hips. In her hand, she carried her usual black peaked hat. Her hair hung long and free, and a jet of pure white light sprang from the top of her head.

“What the hell are you doing in my bedroom in the middle of the night, Minerva!? Have you lost your mind?” He sat up and pulled the bedclothes up under his chin.

This bizarre vision simply looked at him and stated in a soft and gentle voice, “I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

Snape was suddenly overcome with a strong desire to giggle. This really was the most absurd situation. Then another thought struck him. The Baron had said that he’d be haunted by three spirits. Was it possible that this actually wasn’t Minerva McGonagall, after all?”

He closed his eyes. Perhaps he was dreaming. That must be it! When he opens his eyes again she’ll be gone, and everything will be normal. He peeked out from under half closed lids. No such luck! She was still there, staring at him like a dead fish.

Resignedly, he heaved a sigh. “You’re not Minerva McGonagall?”

The figure smiled, shook her head, and quietly stated once more, “I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

He nodded slowly. “Uh huh…long past?”

She shook her head. “No. Your past.”

A dark frown crossed his face. “My past is best left in the past. Why are you here, anyway?”

“Your well being. Rise and walk with me.” She held out her hand. “Take my hand.”

He frowned as he stared blankly at it. “I should get dressed first.”

She smiled archly. “We aren’t going anywhere where you’ll be seen. Anyway, my time is short and your toilet lengthy.”

He sniffed. “Really, there’s no need to be insulting.” Resignedly, he got out of bed, shoved his feet into slippers, and reluctantly took her hand.

Immediately, she pulled him across the room and straight through the wall into another underground stone chamber, one that he immediately recognized as the Slytherin common room. A small solitary figure sat forlornly next to the fire.

“Look, the school isn’t quite deserted.” The spirit pointed at the young boy, whom Snape recognized as his former self at eleven or twelve…or possibly thirteen. All Christmases were much the same at that age. “A young Severus Snape sits forgotten at Christmas,” intoned the spirit mournfully.

Snape sighed impatiently. “Yes, yes, it’s all very sad. Really spirit, you’re not showing me anything I don’t already know. I did live through this, after all. If your aim is to make me wistful for the “joy of Christmas past”, you’re woefully missing the mark!” He crossed his arms and frowned at her.

With a shake of her bright head, she sighed. “Always the difficult one, eh, Severus? Let’s try another one.” She held out her hand. He rolled his eyes and grasped it firmly, pausing to give his former self an enigmatic glance as they swept back through the wall.

This time they came out into the Great Hall of the castle, which was elaborately decorated for Christmas. Food was piled high on the table, and several people were gathered around it, laughing and talking.

The spirit turned to Snape. “Look familiar, Severus?”

He frowned and studied the people at the table. Dumbledore, looking much as he did now, sat at the head of the table. The merrymakers were pulling open Wizard Crackers, and Dumbledore was replacing his usual peaked hat with an enormous straw one decorated with peacock feathers.

The young man on his right was grinning broadly at the sight. Snape looked closer in horror. My god! That was he! This was his first Christmas at Hogwarts as a teacher. Dumbledore joined the young Severus in laughter. “Does it suit me, my boy?”

Young Severus shook his head. “I’m afraid it rather clashes with your outfit, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore continued to chuckle. “Perhaps so, perhaps so. Let’s see if you do any better. Pull open your cracker.”

Severus did so. There was a puff of blue smoke and out sprang a little pink pillbox hat with a veil. Both men dissolved into laughter and were joined by a rather tipsy looking Minerva McGonagall, who said, “Oh, Severus, pink isn’t your color.”

The young man picked up the hat and handed it to the older woman. “I think you’re right, Minerva. Perhaps it would suit you better.” She blushed and took the hat. “Do you think so?”

Severus smiled kindly. “Absolutely, Minerva.”

The older Snape’s face burned with embarrassment for his younger self. Yet he couldn’t help but be aware that his younger self seemed to be completely at ease and content at this table, in the company of these people. When had he lost that?

To cover his sudden discomfiture at this insight, he turned back to the spirit. “It didn’t suit her either,” he grumbled.

The spirit smiled gently. “Ah, but you didn’t tell her that, did you?”

He frowned. “Of course not, what would’ve been the point? And speaking of points, I find I cannot truly fathom yours. Haven’t we wasted enough time on my tedious past yet?”

The spirit nodded. “My time grows short. Just one more stop, I think.”

Snape frowned again. “Oh, all right, where to now? Back to the common room fire? You’ve seen one Christmas in Slytherin House you’ve seen them all, you know.” They headed back through the wall.

“Have you got something against doors, spirit?” questioned Snape, as they came out into a formal parlor. Snape’s face blanched as he looked around, and he swallowed hard. “I’d really rather not revisit this particular Christmas, if you don’t mind.”

“Sorry, Severus, last stop on the tour,” exclaimed the spirit primly.

Snape observed himself as a young man sitting next to a pretty young woman with tears in her eyes. His younger self, a few years older than at the last stop, was speaking with a self-important air. “I’m sorry if this distresses you, Belynda, but you must have known that once your secret came out, the contract would be null and void.”

The young woman tried to take his hand as she pleaded, “But Severus, why should this matter so? You told me you loved me. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

He pulled his hand away from hers. “I was young, Belynda. Too young to know what love really is. Of course, it matters. How could you think that any self-respecting wizard would willingly marry a squib? To willingly so dilute the bloodline, really, you’re more naive than I thought!” He stood up. “I don’t think we have anything further to discuss.”

The young woman stood also. “This is truly your wish, Severus, that we should part?”

The younger Snape nodded stiffly. She blinked back tears. “Very well then. I won’t trouble you further. May you be happy in the life you’ve chosen!” She left him; and they parted.

The older Snape sighed heavily and turned back to the spirit. “Okay, you’ve tortured me enough for one night. May we go now?”

The spirit shook her head. “My time grows short,” she said as she pushed him back through the wall into another room, one Snape didn’t recognize. However, he did recognize two of its occupants. An older but still attractive Belynda was hugging a young man of about twelve or thirteen years. A proud looking man stood next to her.

Snape’s jaw dropped. “I know that boy. He’s a student at the school. He’s quite a powerfully magical child. He’s Belynda’s son?”

The spirit shook her head. “Guess what, Snape? Being a squib is no barrier to producing a powerful wizard heir.”

Snape looked grim as he watched the happy family group. Then he plastered a sneer onto his face and turned back to the spirit. “Oh, well. I can’t be right all the time. Aren’t we done yet, spirit? You keep saying your time is short yet you’re still here. More’s the pity. I’m really getting sick and tired of looking at you. Haunt me no more!”

In his frustration, he snatched the hat from her hands and crammed it down over her head, putting out that annoying white light. He just kept pushing until the hat covered her completely. Then everything went black, and he abruptly found himself back in his own bedroom.

Sharply, he shook his head. Good god, what a nightmare! No more brandy before bed for him. With a feeling of relief, he crawled back under the covers and sank once more into the arms of Morpheus.