Archive of Our Own

Stave I.

Barty Crouch Jr. was dead, to begin with. There was no doubt whatsoever about that. He had died a rather forgettable death in Azkaban around a year before, but that was beside the point. Barty Crouch Jr. was dead as a door-nail. 

Severus Snape was perhaps a bit too unconcerned by this fact, and had not thought of the other Death Eater since the latter had been sent to prison three years ago. He would remember his former schoolmate soon enough. At the moment he was rather busy devastating his students, as he so often did. Only one day remained before winter holidays, which had been pushed back by several days due to the war. Though students would not be permitted to return home, school was nearly over and the entire class was more unruly and delighted than ever. Finals were completed and only minutes remained in the semester… The joy had been more palpable last year – now even the youngest students were worried about the war, not to mention the patrolling Carrows that now made even Hogwarts unsafe. 

Still, the students chattered with more happiness than in any previous Defense Against the Dark Arts class. They all quieted when Snape stood from his chair, the room falling into an apprehensive silence. 

“As we will have a while before next class, you will all have time to complete essays on the last six chapters of your textbooks. I expect an essay for each chapter, fifty inches of parchment each.” 

The whole class groaned, then fell silent again at Snape’s glower. Their momentary joy extinguished, they trudged out of the classroom with minds now fixed on the work that awaited them. Snape only enjoyed their despair a little. No, that was a lie: he relished the sadness exuded by these students just as he had enjoyed the distress of each class he had already informed. 

Having brought a fitting end to the students’ Christmas cheer, Snape began to gather his things. It was the last class of the day and students were now heading to dinner; as the Headmaster of Hogwarts Snape would have to at least make an appearance at the Christmas feast. 

Just as he was preparing to leave, the door opened. Filius Flitwick walked in, looking much too jolly and wearing a glowing hat formed completely of green and red tinsel. Snape wrinkled his nose at the sparkly abomination. “What do you want, Filius?” 

Flitwick beamed at Snape with what was likely a forced smile. “My, it is very dreary in here!” He clapped his hands and garlands, woven with strings of multi-colored Christmas lights, appeared in every bit of free space. 

Snape glared at the new additions to his classroom. “What do you want?” he repeated. “Ah, yes! I wondered if you wished to come to the professors’ Christmas party! I know you never do, but I always like to ask…” 

“Absolutely not,” Snape said. Every year, the professors held a Christmas party in the very secret, very well-hidden Hogwarts teachers’ lounge. The Christmas season was tiring enough without all the usually stoic professors acting just as ridiculous as the students. For Merlin’s sake, last year McGonagall had enchanted every candle in the Great Hall to spew green-and-red sparks for the entirety of Christmas break. 

Ever since Snape’s childhood, he had detested the entire affair. Not just the Christmas party, oh no, but the entirety of the holiday. The winter was cold, and that was that. No need to sing carols about it. Christmas break was an opportunity to destroy the students who weren’t dedicated enough to do work during the holidays. Nothing more. 

Snape was about to demand Flitwick be festive somewhere else when he heard a small voice in the hallway. The high-pitched little voice had to be a student and Snape thought it must be… singing Muggle Christmas carols? 

Snape’s attention was drawn back to the other professor in the room as Flitwick sighed. “I thought you might say that. Merry Christmas anyway, Severus.” Snape scoffed. “Bah! Humbug!” 

Before Flitwick – who seemed a bit alarmed by Snape’s exclamation – could respond, two Hufflepuffs crept nervously into the classroom. They were jabbering quietly to each other, glancing at Snape every so often. Snape’s scowl left Flitwick and refocused on the pair as one of them stepped tentatively forward. 

“Um, Prof- er, Headmaster,” they began. “We’re very sorry, but we wanted to ask you…” 

“Spit it out,” Snape snapped. The tinny voice of the caroling student outside was beginning to give him a headache. 

“We talked to a bunch of people and we made this,” the other Hufflepuff piped up, hiding behind the first one as he did. The student held out a piece of parchment crowded with signatures. “I don’t know if we’re allowed to petition the Headmaster, but if not then it’s just… proof. Of how many people need you to…”

“... to please not make us do so much homework,” the other Hufflepuff finished as their friend trailed off into anxious shudders. “Even in a whole month we couldn’t finish six essays! And you made even the third years who only just got your class do that much!” 

Flitwick glanced from Snape to the two students in shock. “Severus, did you really-” 

Snape sneered at the lot of them. “No, I will not change the amount of work I have already assigned. If you do not leave now, I shall give you detention.” 

“You can’t give them detention!” Flitwick finally cried out in protest. “Winter break begins tomorrow!” 

“Then they shall serve detention after school resumes,” Snape said darkly. The Hufflepuffs were both physically trembling at this point. 

“O-of course, Headmaster!” The pair said in fearful unison as they dashed out of the classroom, dropping the parchment as they fled. It did appear to have quite a lot of signatures. 

Flitwick turned to Snape with a pained expression. “Severus, you are far, far too hard on your students. It’s Christmas, for goodness sake!” With that, he finally left, leaving Snape alone in the empty classroom. 

Snape muttered a levitation charm, using it to bundle up all the garlands and lights Flitwick had so generously added to the walls. He flung open the door and launched the huge mass of Christmas cheer at the tiny student (Dennis Creevey, apparently) who had been singing. He squeaked as the heap of garlands collided with him and began struggling futilely to untangle himself. 

With that solved, Snape walked briskly up towards the Headmaster’s office without a backward glance.

— 

Dumbledore’s portrait, it seemed, had also been infected by the ‘Christmas spirit’ spreading throughout the castle. Snape groaned as the sweater-clad painting called, “Severus!” the moment he walked into the Headmaster’s office. Snape pointedly ignored Dumbledore as the old man called out his name again, instead striding through the office, tidying with his wand as he went. 

“Severus, I know you can hear me,” Dumbledore shouted. He only got louder the longer Snape ignored him; truly, how had such a child ever been headmaster of this school? “If you refuse to acknowledge me, I’ll simply have to yell louder, Severus!” He said it in a coercing tone, as if the threat of that would get Snape to look in the eye the man he had been ordered to kill. It was also the man who had given that order, and Snape was all too aware there were more orders to come. 

“Severus, Harry’s fate and the fate of the entire Wizarding World rests on you this Christmas! You must give Harry the Sword of Gryffindor.” 

Snape rolled his eyes at Dumbledore’s words. “The boy will be fine. He’s survived well enough until now.” 

“Severus,” Dumbledore said, his voice taking on a quieter, more serious tone. “He needs you.” 

Snape muttered, “Humbug,” and stalked out of the main office towards his chambers. Why should he care if Harry Potter of all people needed his aid? The boy was a little brat. He paused at the door that led to his chambers. Something felt off. 

Before Snape could open the door, the doorknocker began to change shape. The silver metal warped and almost wriggled in its place on the dark wood until it had formed the shape of a familiar face. It was a face Snape had seen three years prior, and long before then had seen frequently around Hogwarts. It was the face of Barty Crouch Jr. 

Snape stumbled back, his eyes wide and his wand raised. From out of sight Dumbledore called, “Severus? What is going on over there?” 

Snape didn’t answer. The face had disappeared as if it had never been there, leaving only an ordinary silver doorknocker. The only thing strange about it was that it was on a door within a building, but that was not a recent development; the decorating tastes of previous headmasters had always been strange. Snape sighed, deciding he must have imagined it (or it was some kind of weird prank) and walked inside. 

While the Headmaster’s office was perpetually illuminated with warm light, Snape kept every lamp in the adjoining chambers unlit. He carried only his lit wand and a small candle as he walked down the short hallway. The feast was over and done with, as were all his duties for quite a while. He wondered if he should feel more at ease than he did; still, he went through his usual nightly routine and changed into his favorite dressing gown and cap. He hadn’t stayed long enough at the Christmas celebration downstairs to eat, so he brought a small supper of cheese and meat to his room. 

Snape didn’t mind the cold, or the dark. It reminded him of the dungeons he’d spent his school years (as well as most of his teaching years) in. He sat down in his armchair and glanced at the clock on his wall: nearly midnight already. The encounter with the doorknocker had been hours ago now, and yet Snape still felt as if something was wrong. 

After a moment of unease, Snape set down his charcuterie board and paced about the room a couple times. He opened the single window, then closed it. Nothing was out of the ordinary. That doorknocker must have been a trick of the light – why would the face of an acquaintance appear there, instead of the fire? Crouch was in prison as well: how would he have found the means to contact Snape even via fireplace?

He finally sat down once more in his armchair. Only a few minutes later, Snape jumped as a chilly breeze blew through the bedroom, putting out his sole candle. He relit it with an incantation, but the stubborn wind blew it out again. “Who is there?” Snape said into the darkness. He was answered only by the clock, which began to strike midnight with a dozen tinny clangs. But that sound was accompanied by another: the clanking of chains. 

Snape slowly stood up as a thin, ghostly figure materialized out of the darkness: a man with the face of Snape’s doorknocker. Or rather, it was the face his doorknocker had warped into, hours ago. Barty Crouch Jr. was as Snape had never seen him: clad in prison garments, exuding a pale light, and weighed down by thick, heavy chains. 

“Crouch?” Snape said, dumbfounded. “Why are you here?” 

Barty Crouch Jr. paused, looking a bit put out. “You’re not shocked? Horrified? Alright.” He cleared his throat, then boomed, “I have emerged from the afterlife to warn you of the fate that awaits you, Severus Snape.” 

Snape stared flatly at him. “You’re dead?” he said after a moment. 

“Yes!” Barty cried. “Obviously! Didn’t they put it in the papers?” 

Snape shrugged. “Plenty to go on the front page these days. Journalists don’t need to try so hard to find mildly interesting stories.” 

Barty seemed torn between expressing great offense and doing whatever he was here for. “Snape!” he finally shouted, shaking the chains wound around his arms. “Do you see these?” “Yes,” Snape said. Before Barty could continue he asked, “Why are you even at Hogwarts? You didn’t die here, your ghost should not be here.” Snape squinted at Barty. “Are you even a real ghost?” 

Barty kept rattling the chains, which were slamming loudly against the floor as he waved his arms up and down. “These are the chains I forged in life, with all my misdeeds! Are you listening? I’m telling you about your terrible fate!” 

Snape was inspecting his half-eaten charcuterie board. “Did I eat something strange? Or perhaps this is a dream. Your ghost would never have ended up here, logically speaking.” He nodded. “You could just be the mental manifestation of something I ate! You might be a bit of undigested beef, a crumb of cheese!” He stood up and pointed accusingly at Barty. “Yes, there is more of gravy than of grave about you!” 

Barty cackled, unfazed by Snape’s declarations. “So, you refuse to believe this is real. Believe it, Severus! I now have to wander the world in these chains! Chains I forged myself, through everything I did in life. And when you die, oh, you shall have more to carry than I.” 

Snape was about to insist that he wasn’t forging anything, but he was interrupted by Barty, who had begun to shout an explanation. Snape would have likely interrupted him again if background music had not begun to play. Of all things. 

“It is required of every man that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow men,” Barty Crouch Jr. began. “And if that spirit goes not forth in life, he is condemned to do so after death! To witness what he cannot share, what he might have shared and turned into happiness!” 

And with that, the ghost floating before Severus Snape began to, of all things, sing. I’m Barty Crouch Jr. 

Avarice and greed. 

Snape was frozen with such horror that he found himself unable to move, let alone protest to the sudden musical number. 

And if you weren’t pure of blood,

Peaceful life you’d be without. 

I’m Barty Crouch Jr. 

My heart was painted black. 

This had to be a hallucination. Or a prank. There had to be an explanation. 

Crouch continued on until- “Whoo!” Snape jolted back as Barty zoomed forward, releasing a ghostly yell. Snape shivered, though he still could do nothing else but stand and stare. Doomed, Snape! 

You’re doomed for all time! 

Your future is a horror story, 

Written by your crime. 

Snape was almost shaken enough to believe it when Crouch declared: 

A nightmare waits for you. 

Barty gave another chilling shriek. He was slowly sinking closer and closer to the floor, his chains appearing to grow heavier by the moment. 

I’m Barty Crouch Jr. 

And now it’s time to part. 

… 

The future’s up to you! 

Change! 

With that final order, Barty Crouch Jr. disappeared. Snape shuddered once again as his voice returned for a moment to call, “You will meet three spirits this Christmas eve! They are your chance to escape the fate that has befallen me! The first spirit will come when the bell tolls one!”

Stave II. 

Barty Crouch Jr. was gone, and yet Snape still stood frozen, eyes fixed blankly on the floor where the ghost had sunk back down to the underworld. This couldn’t be happening. A ghost had appeared and sung at him and now there were supposed to be three more? 

A flock of owls that had been perching on the roof of the Headmaster’s tower suddenly took off, flying away from the muffled sound of shrieking within the tower. Snape glanced frantically at the clock. It was halfway to one o’clock. He hoped desperately that Barty’s ghost had been a figment of his imagination and that he could sleep peacefully for the night. He knew that with his luck it was unlikely, but he could still hope, and hope he did. 

Come what may, Snape decided to lie down and try to get some rest; he pulled the curtains shut around the great four-poster. When he awoke, it was to the sound of a single tong from his clock. 

Snape’s heart filled with dread white light began to stream from the gap in the curtains. He tentatively pulled the thick fabric open. Might as well get it over with. Though he was tired, Snape jolted fully awake at the sight of Sirius Orion Black, clad in shimmering white robes and floating just above the floor. He looked only about fifteen or sixteen, as he had appeared in his years at Hogwarts. He looked even more ghostly than Barty Crouch Jr. had, his long black hair and pale robes flowing around him as if he was underwater. When he saw Snape he grinned. “Wow, Snivellus, nice hat!” 

Snape refused to feel embarrassed about the tasseled cap he wore, and crossed his arms with a scowl. “Why are you here?” 

“Didn’t your old Death Eater friend tell you? I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past!”

Sirius exclaimed. “I’m here to show you what Christmas is all about!” 

Snape rolled his eyes. “Fine, let’s get this over with, then.” He braced himself for a song. To his relief Sirius didn’t open his mouth; he reached forward and grabbed the back of Snape’s collar. 

“I would suggest opening the window before we reach it,” he commented. Then, dragging Snape along with him, Sirius whisked him out the window Snape hastily opened with a flick of his wand. 

Snape most certainly did not want to give Black the satisfaction of screaming, but it wasn’t particularly fun dangling from the partially corporeal hand of someone who had previously tried to get him killed. “What is that light?” Snape complained. A blinding white light had begun to rise over the horizon; Snape threw an arm over his eyes to shield them from the sudden glow. “The sun cannot be rising yet.” 

“It’s the past!” Sirius said, sounding much too delighted about all of this. He was probably enjoying tormenting Snape. Christmas morning was always very tiresome, and Snape had only wished for good sleep to get him through it. He held back a sigh at the thought of having to deal with all that Christmas cheer on barely a half hour of sleep. 

As they rushed towards the sunrise of the past Snape was forced to close his eyes to block it out. When Snape opened his eyes again, the two of them were standing in a classroom. There were Christmas lights up around the room and snow outside the window, and only a single, dark-haired boy sitting at one of the desks. 

“It’s… it’s me,” Snape realized in amazement. This was beyond any power he was aware of – though perhaps this would be impossible for a living wizard. “Ah yes, I’d forgotten how greasy your hair was, even as an eleven year old!” Sirius remarked. Snape stopped staring at the small boy and turned to glare at the spirit, who didn’t appear to notice. 

The young Snape was flipping through a huge, dusty tome, scribbling notes on a paper every so often. He sneezed each time he turned a huge, dusty page. He didn’t seem to have noticed the two people who had just appeared in the corner of the classroom – Snape could only assume that he and Sirius were invisible to the people of the past. 

Snape remembered preferring the empty Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom to study during the holidays. He liked it better than the library and when it wasn’t in use, Snape loved to get a head start on what he would be learning the following semester. 

Dumbledore entered the classroom and the tiny Snape looked up. “Professor!” “Hello there, Mr. Snape,” Dumbledore said, as jovially as ever. The adult Snape standing in the corner almost felt a little melancholy, seeing the old headmaster as he’d been so long ago. “Doing some extra studying?” Dumbledore inquired. The young Snape nodded. “Not celebrating with the rest of the school? It’s good for the mind to take occasional breaks, you know,” Dumbledore said, in that infuriatingly wise way he said everything. Snape shrugged. “It’s not like I have anything else to do. All the Slytherins I’ve met this year have gone home.” 

Dumbledore smiled down at him in that particular Dumbledore way that somehow combined concern, kindness, and intense eye-twinkling. “Well keep in mind that you are always free to come celebrate with everyone else, whenever you would like to. My office is always open if you grow bored enough to talk to an equally bored old man!” 

Snape mustered a small smile. The older version of Snape almost smiled too. Sirius glanced at him, then flicked his hand. With the movement, the classroom flashed rapidly through Snape’s many Christmases at Hogwarts. One moment he was an anxious eleven year old and the next… he was a seventeen year old who was not much less awkward. He was standing now, talking to Dumbledore just as he had that first Christmas at Hogwarts. Before either of the two could speak Sirius cut in. “Wow, the acne really got bad after fifth year.” He snickered when Snape turned to glower at him again. 

“Do you have any plans for after Hogwarts? Slughorn told me that in your fifth year career interviews you still wished to keep your options open. That may be more difficult with NEWTs around the corner, my boy.” 

The young Snape nodded. “I know, Professor. I have narrowed it down a bit… I might like to be an Auror. Something to do with Defense Against the Dark Arts, I think.” Dumbledore nodded. “A noble pursuit. Have you ever considered teaching? I know much of Miss Evans’s success in potions was due to you.” 

Both Snapes stiffened at the name. Young Snape shrugged. “I’ll think about it, I suppose.” 

Dumbledore beamed at him. “Just be certain you’ve considered every option that might appeal to you. I never imagined I’d love teaching, but here I still am! I know Minerva felt the same when she was your age as well. Now, do you think you’ll come out for the Christmas feast this year, Mr. Snape?” 

Snape shook his head. “Too much studying for NEWTs. But… thanks, Professor.” Dumbledore smiled as he walked away. Sirius walked through the wall after the old headmaster, and with a glance backward Snape followed as well. 

A moment after stepping out of the classroom, Dumbledore turned back to look at the closed door. The old Headmaster sighed. He seemed as if he wanted to poke his head back in, but he didn’t; he just strolled briskly away towards Christmas dinner. The older Snape watched Dumbledore leave; seeing the old man again brought back the guilt that had followed him ever

since the previous school year. And guilt for refusing to follow Dumbledore’s order concerning the Sword of Gryffindor. And… perhaps a little guilt he’d made the Headmaster worry about him so much in his school years. Maybe he should have gone to the Christmas feast one of those years after all. 

Before he knew it, time had sped backward again and he was back in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, looking down at himself in third year. 

Snape had multiple textbooks laid out on the desk in front of him and his eyelids were drooping. He had to shake himself every few seconds to keep from dozing off from sheer boredom. Snape spotted the title of one of the books: reading material for History of Magic, of course. 

Both Snapes glanced up as the door opened. A thirteen year old girl with a long braid of fiery hair stood in the doorway. “Hey, Sev!” she said. “I finally found you!” Snape stared at her as if he was trying to figure out whether she was real. “You didn’t go home for Christmas?” he said after a moment. 

Lily shrugged. “My sister isn’t going to, so I don’t really want to either. I think she’s upset with me.” Her expression brightened. “Would you like to go outside with me? I’ve gotten really good at the warming spell we learned in Charms!” She was already halfway out the door, knowing Snape would follow. 

Snape saw his younger self’s dark eyes light up. “Er, alright,” he mumbled, trying not to sound too pleased. The classroom faded away around Snape and Sirius, replaced by a bright garden covered in snow. Lily and the young Snape were sitting on a bench, bundled up in scarves and winter cloaks. Snape and Sirius could just barely hear the conversation that had taken place so many years ago. It was meaningless talk of classes, families, classmates. Lily had been a little more distant that year, and Snape remembered being relieved they could still just sit and talk like this. Snape missed those meaningless conversations. 

“This was your happiest Christmas, wasn’t it?” Sirius said, uncharacteristically quiet. Snape didn’t nod, but he knew it was true. Perhaps Christmas hadn’t always been the worst time of the year. That Christmas spent sitting in the gardens of Hogwarts with Lily… it had felt warm, the way everyone else saw Christmas. Perhaps the other professors weren’t so wrong for celebrating the arrival of that time of year. 

“You spent another Christmas with her, years later,” Sirius said. Snape jolted back to reality. He knew what Sirius spoke of. 

“Black, let me go back now,” Snape said quickly. Sirius didn’t even look at him. “Please, do not make me remember that Christmas.” 

Sirius only acknowledged Snape’s pleas with a shake of his head. Snape was forced to simply turn back to the little bench in the garden. A slightly older Snape sat there, alone. His foot traced a circle in the snow beneath it, going around and around. His eyes were downcast, but they brightened immediately when he heard footsteps crunching through the snow. 

Both Snapes looked up to see Lily. She didn’t look anywhere near as happy as that Christmas before, either. “Sev,” she began, her tone serious. “We need to talk.” Snape nodded vigorously. “Of course! Let’s talk!” He gestured to the spot beside him on the bench, but Lily shook her head. 

“Severus, I… You need to stop hanging out with the people you do.” 

The young Snape’s face changed from happiness to shock. 

“I know it’s not for me to tell you who not to be friends with, but with the war…” Lily sighed. “The people you’re friends with curse other students. You know what they’ve called my friends, and me. Even you have, and I know you don’t mean it the way they do: it’s just their influence. Severus, those are the people who are going to grow up and kill Muggleborns. Those are people who are going to be murderers! And I know you’re not really one of them! Please Sev, please just stop!” 

Snape stared at her, speechless. Next to Sirius, Snape, the one so much older than the one on the bench, turned away. Lily began to turn away as well, shaking her head in defeat. “Wait! I, I will! I’ll stop hanging out with-” 

“Will you?” Lily had turned back, her curtain of copper hair swinging. “Will you really? Even if I don’t feel the same way for you as you do for me?” 

Snape froze once more. “W-what?” 

“I try not to listen to rumors, but some part of me knows you won’t really stop being around that group,” Lily said. “I care about you Sev, but if you love me… I’m sorry, but I don’t love you in the same way. And if knowing that would drive you back to those Slytherins, I’d rather not get my hopes up about you changing.” 

Snape opened his mouth but no sound came out. But Lily wasn’t finished. “Even if I did love you back, maybe even then you’d still go back to them! Because even if you do love me like everyone says you do, you clearly love power more!” 

And then she was gone, striding away across the grounds. 

“Why did you have to show me this?” the older Snape cried. He turned to look at Sirius. “Are you just here to torment me? Why? ” 

Sirius had looked almost pitying for a moment, but then he went back to his usual attitude with a shrug. “Look, as much as I would like to torment you, that’s not why I’m here. The past is the past, don’t blame me! If you didn’t like how it turned out, you only have yourself to blame. If you wanted Lily you shouldn’t have treated her the way you did: you should never have called her or her friends slurs. Like dude! That is pretty basic human decency.” With that, Sirius and the snowy garden were gone, leaving Snape alone in his room. 

Stave III. 

Snape opened his eyes to the sound of a tong from his clock, and then another. He sat up, then looked around. Where was the second spirit? After putting him through all that, had they given up on redeeming him? 

Snape stepped out of his bed and looked around. Then he heard a familiar, jovial laugh. He opened the door to his bedroom and walked into the kitchen with his lit wand. The light was proven unnecessary as Snape found himself in a room illuminated by the cozy glow of magical candles. The little flickering flames floated all around Snape’s small dining table, atop which a man sat cross-legged. It was James Potter, the candlelight making his brown skin appear even warmer in tone. 

To Snape’s surprise he wore a merry smile with his fur-lined robes of red and gold. His grin did not falter even at the sight of Snape, and he exclaimed, “Come in, and know me better, man! ‘Cause you sure never tried back at Hogwarts! I’m actually pretty great.” 

Snape stared at the huge piles of food and sparkling Christmas decorations James perched on top of. The entire table was covered. Snape really hoped it would all disappear along with James – it would be hell to clean up all that tinsel. 

Along with his robes and great fur cloak of the same Gryffindor colors, James had a crown of golden antlers atop his head. He looked like the king of Christmas, if there was such a thing. As Snape slowly approached, wrinkling his nose at the heap of food and Christmas cheer underneath James, the other man made to stand up. He, like Sirius, had taken the form of himself in his school days, younger than the twenty-one at which he had died.

James hopped off the table and his red-booted feet landed on the floor. He grinned at Snape and gestured to the door into the Headmaster’s office. When James opened it, Snape was not met with the warm golden tones of the Headmaster’s office but the snowy streets of Hogsmeade, the castle visible a little ways away. It was daytime, the sun shining down brightly and making the snow sparkle as if it were filled with just as much glitter as a Christmas bauble. The street Snape and James had stepped out onto was bustling with groups of students and Hogsmeade locals alike. The Three Broomsticks across the street was packed, exuding sounds of laughter and merriment. Everyone who went in exited with rosy cheeks and warm bottles of butterbeer in hand. 

Snape followed James as he walked down the street, Potter’s vibrantly red-gold fur cloak jingling with bells as they went. The scene was noisy with chatter, happiness, and the crunching of snow beneath boots. Even with the chilly weather, the warmth that billowed from the doorways of every shop they passed was enough to keep Snape from shivering in his nightgown. Honeydukes was just as busy as The Three Broomsticks, filled to the brim with people spending their Christmas money on sweet, magical treats. Snape watched someone trick their friend into eating a Cockroach Cluster. The young witch giggled madly at the disgusted expression of her friend, and after taking a moment to recover her friend joined in. 

“Isn’t this wonderful?” James remarked, observing the snowball fight on the other side of the street with a smile. Snape wrinkled his eyebrows at the kids violently pummeling each other with cold powder. A moment later, they all dissolved into laughter like the friends at Honeydukes. 

Snape shrugged. “I suppose.” 

James paused to grin at a group of small children singing wizard Christmas carols. They had clearly practiced a great deal, harmonizing nicely. Snape remembered the caroling

little Dennis Creevey he had probably given a concussion and felt, once again, a bit guilty. “Hogsmeade is the best at Christmastime! I almost wish I’d stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas, just to visit.” James stopped, staring out at the street filled with happy people. Then he turned around to look up at the castle. He snapped his fingers and they were back inside it. Snape glanced around the decoration-laden room and realized it was the very secret and well-hidden Hogwarts teachers’ lounge. All the professors were sitting on the cozy couches, many of them wearing Christmas sweaters. The stress that had followed them all year long had dissipated a bit, and they were all smiling, even McGonagall. 

“Let us play a game!” Sprout suggested. There was a general chorus of agreement from the others. 

“Do people play games at Christmas?” Snape asked James quietly. The other man grinned and nodded. 

“How about I think of something and you all try and guess it?” Flitwick said. There were nods and more noises of assent. 

“Is it an inanimate object?” 

“Nope!” 

“Is it a plant?” 

“Not quite.” 

“An animal, then?” 

Flitwick’s smile widened mischievously. “Of a sort.” 

“A dog?” piped up Sinistra. 

“No.” 

“A cat?” Snape asked, seconds before McGonagall said the same thing. “I said it first,” Snape muttered as Flitwick told her no. 

Slughorn’s face lit up. “Is it a regal creature?" 

At the shake of Flitwick’s head there was another bout of guesses, all to which he said, “Nope!” 

“Is it an unwanted creature?” asked Madame Pomfrey. 

Flitwick laughed. “Indeed!” 

“A rat?” 

“A snake?” 

“A Flobberworm?” 

“Hm… is it found in cities?” 

“Castles?” 

“Yes, indeed it is only found in castles! I don’t believe it would ever be found in a Muggle city.” 

McGonagall was quiet, pondering. “We are thinking about this wrong…” The other professors fell quiet, observing Minerva. 

“An unwanted creature that is never found in Muggle cities… You said it lives in dark, cold places? Could it be…” McGonagall’s eyes lit up and an amused smile played across her lips. “Severus Snape?” 

Snape jumped as she said his name, but then his eyes widened in shock as Flitwick said, “Yes! You got it!” 

Snape watched the room of laughing people with wide eyes. To Snape’s astonishment, James patted him on the shoulder consolingly. 

“They aren’t exactly wrong,” he said. “If you put a little more effort into being a nice person no one would laugh about you behind your back. That’s the reason us Marauders started hating you in the first place: you were pretty awful to everyone. Don’t get me wrong, we were jerks too. I’m sorry for that. But you weren’t blameless either, Severus.” 

After a moment, the teachers’ lounge was gone. They were now standing in the Gryffindor common room. While many students had gone down to Hogsmeade, a small huddle of them had dragged armchairs closer together and were talking there in hushed tones. 

“We have to do it today, while everyone’s guard is down!” Ginny Weasley insisted. 

Neville Longbottom, trembling slightly, pointed out, “We got three months detention last time! We can’t risk it again, the Carrows might-” 

“That doesn’t matter!” Ginny declared to her small audience. “We have to get the Sword of Gryffindor! Who knows if Harry is okay, or what he’s facing at this very moment!” The others’ expressions, which were already serious, turned sad at the mention of Harry Potter. Even Ginny fell quiet. As well as the only hope for the wizarding world, the boy who lived was their friend. And since Voldemort’s rise he had been in mortal peril. 

Snape turned to James but stopped before he spoke, staring. James gave a knowing smile. “Ah, my hair’s turning white, is it? Yes, the day grows old and so do I. I’m only up here for Christmas day, and the rest of the time I’m down in the spirit realm! It’s almost time for me to return there. It is kind of fun to have a go at aging, though! Never got to before.” 

“Before you go, please show me Harry Potter,” Snape said. He realized that, despite his dislike for the boy, he too was worried. And he definitely felt bad now for not following Dumbledore’s order the night before. “Show me your son.” 

James snapped his fingers and their surroundings faded into a cold, snowy forest. It seemed empty for a moment before Snape spotted the tent. It must be the place Harry Potter and his companions had been hiding all this time. Harry himself was sitting just outside, holding two jagged pieces of wood. 

Snape and James approached, and as they got closer Snape saw what Harry was holding. His broken wand. That irritating fire always present in his emerald eyes was nowhere to be seen. 

“What happened?” Snape asked James, his eyebrows furrowed. 

James looked just as serious and sad as Ginny had. “Voldemort’s snake ambushed him and Hermione Granger. Nagini managed to bite him, and his wand was broken in the fight.” “Why did they walk into an ambush?” Snape asked. Potter should have been avoiding any situations where that might have happened. 

“They were in Godric’s Hollow, looking for clues about the whereabouts of the Sword of Gryffindor,” James said. Snape felt another pang of guilt. Dumbledore had definitely been correct. 

Then Snape blinked. How much had Dumbledore been correct about, if he had been right that Harry needed the sword? Dumbledore had said Harry’s life depended on Snape, hadn’t he? And Snape hadn’t followed his orders to save Harry Potter by giving him the sword. “Potter, I have to know. Will Harry Potter live?” 

James sighed and adjusted his glasses, a nervous habit Snape recognized from their school days. “I am only the Ghost of Christmas Present. I cannot see clearly what is yet to come. However I do see quiet Christmases at the Burrow, glasses without an owner. If the timeline goes on unchanged, Harry will die.” 

Snape stepped back. “Then, I must go back and send him the sword! If it’s not too late…” 

James smiled at Snape. “I’m afraid my time grows short. The sun is setting, and I must

return to the realm of spirits.” 

Snape’s eyes went wide. “What? No, do not leave! You must help me save your son!” James began to fade away, his form outlined in sparkles of green and red. “I’m sorry, Snivellus, old chap! You’ll have to save him on your own. It is almost three, so the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come should be with you soon! And now, back to the realm of spirits for another year!” 

Stave IV. 

The forest had faded along with James Potter, and Snape found himself in a graveyard. He looked up at the dreary church beneath the cloudy gray sky. Its bell began to chime. After three chimes, it fell silent. There was no sound but the rush of the chilly wind. Snape suddenly felt much too cold in his nightgown and cap. He looked around, and then he saw it. The spirit of Christmas Yet To Come. 

A tall, spindly figure in dark, hooded robes stood barely a foot behind him. Snape slowly looked up. Beneath the hood he could see nothing but darkness where there should have been a face. 

“Spirit, please, you must let me go back and send Potter the Sword of Gryffindor,” Snape said. The spirit said nothing. It turned around and stepped forward, and as it did the graveyard began to swirl around them like water down a drain. He rushed forward into the darkness after the shadowy figure and found himself standing on a rainy street. A group of people under umbrellas had stopped on the cobblestones and were chatting. 

After a moment Snape realized this depressing, gray place was Hogsmeade. Then he saw that the spirit was pointing one long, bony gloved finger at the group of people. Snape looked from the spirit to the group, and finally began to slowly walk over. He was thankful the rain didn’t hit him, so he stayed dry from the considerable downpour. 

Despite the dreadful weather, the group of friends was talking and laughing with as much merriment as anyone from the visions of Christmas Present. Snape stepped forward to listen after glancing backward once more at the spirit, who was still pointing. Now Snape was just within earshot of the conversation. 

“Finally kicked the bucket, did he? Good riddance!” one exclaimed. 

“Agreed, he should have died a long time ago. Before he could bother any of us!” another said, and the three people all burst into laughter. 

“The world’s a brighter place with that scum of a man gone,” the third person said. The other two nodded emphatically. 

“Surely no one will go to his funeral.” 

“Well, I suppose I would… if lunch was provided!” 

“Speaking of lunch-!” 

Their laughter began to fade away as Hogsmeade swirled before Snape’s eyes. Who was this wretched man they spoke of, whose death caused such joy? 

He blinked and suddenly he was back at Hogwarts. The place he found himself now was a deserted corridor. The faint grayish light that came in through the windows illuminated nothing but dust motes. 

Snape turned around and found the tall, Dementor-like spirit behind him again. It pointed towards a door. Snape hesitantly stepped forward and found that, though he could not open the door, he could walk through it. It was a disused classroom, the type that would usually be found empty. Not quite empty at the moment, as there was a little cluster of students in one corner.

“These are his old bed curtains!” one of the students said in a hushed voice. Snape noticed the robes of all these students were just as worn and ratty as the pieces of fabric they held up. “That’s gotta be three Sickles!” 

An older student snorted and shook his head. “No way, that’s barely three Knuts worth.” “One Sickle!” the younger student bargained. 

“No way,” the older one repeated. He turned to another of the three younger students around him. “What’ve you got?” 

“I’ve got his old slippers,” she said. 

“Ah, I’ll give you a Sickle for those,” the older student said. 

“One Sickle, five Knuts,” she said in return. He nodded and handed the money over. 

Why were these Hogwarts students so desperate for money? And whose things were they selling? Were they the personal effects of the man whose death Snape had heard about in town? 

“Hey, hey, I’ve got his old bedsheets!” the third student exclaimed, still managing to speak quietly as they did. “They’re still warm!” 

The older student snorted again. “He had no warmth in him even in life!” He reached out to take them. “Alright fine, three Sickles.” 

The one receiving the three silver coins grinned in satisfaction while the other two groaned. 

Snape turned around. “Spirit, why are students of Hogwarts in need of a few Sickles? Why is the castle so dusty and badly kept? Has someone else taken over it? And who was this man whose death is so celebrated?” 

The spirit’s hooded head moved as if it were gazing down at Snape, though inside the hood was only pitch blackness. The world spun once again and the two descended into depths much like the contents of the spirit’s hood. 

Now the pair stood outside a small, decrepit house in a dreary neighborhood packed with similar houses. Eager for the answers to his many questions, Snape walked straight through the wall of the tiny building. His eyes widened as he realized who was inside. 

The red hair of both Molly and Arthur Weasley had dulled and grayed in the years since the present. Molly was far from the fiery woman Snape remembered, her face solemn as she prepared Christmas dinner. Arthur had walked in at the same time as Snape, though he entered through the door. As he put up his hat, a garment so worn Snape was surprised it still held together, Arthur asked, “Molly, what’s on the table tonight?” His voice was thick with forced cheer. As she answered tonelessly, Snape glanced around the room. 

In the corner sat Ron Weasley, his eyes lined with dark circles of sleep deprivation. He did not respond as his father asked him about his day. Arthur appeared unsurprised by his son’s silence and simply sighed before going back to talking to his wife. 

But then Snape saw Ginny. The woman leaning, arms crossed against a wall could not have been farther from the Ginny plotting the theft of the Sword of Gryffindor. Her eyes were cold and dead, the spark of rebellion within them extinguished. Her red hair was streaked with almost as much gray as her parents’ and was bound into a loose bun. None of that was so shocking as the scars that stretched from the upper right corner of her face down to the left side of her jaw. One of her eyes was even more soulless than the other, the milky haze of blindness visible over it. 

Snape could do nothing but stand there in shock. Who were these people? How was it possible for someone to change so completely they were near unrecognizable? What had happened to the Weasleys? 

“Stop pretending to be happy,” Ginny said suddenly. Her parents froze, as did Snape.

Ginny met their eyes with the tiniest hint of the endless determination she used to possess. “There’s nothing to be happy about.” 

“Now, that isn’t completely true,” Arthur said. 

“It is, and you know it,” Ginny snapped. “We are on the run from the Ministry and unable to stay in our actual house. My brothers are dead. Ron is the only one who isn’t, but even if he’s physically here he certainly isn’t mentally! Harry is dead. Stop pretending like you’ve forgotten all that!” 

Molly and Arthur did not respond, though they dropped the cheerful facades. Ron remained unmoving in the corner. Snape strode back outside. 

“Spirit!” he cried. The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come still stood there on the street. “Spirit, why do you show me these things?” Snape’s voice had taken on a desperate edge at the thought of Lily’s green eyes truly disappearing from the world. “Please, spirit, there must be some way it can be changed! Tell me, tell me how to save Harry Potter!” The dismal street around them faded away and they were back in the graveyard where they had begun. “Spirit,” Snape said. “Why show me these scenes if this future is inevitable? There must be some way to change the fate of Harry Potter! Please spirit, speak! Tell me what to do!” 

The tall, dark figure did not speak. It simply pointed, and as Snape turned around his heart filled with dread. He turned to look back at the spirit. “Is that the gravestone of that dead man, the one whose demise caused so many to rejoice?” 

The spirit was silent, only continuing to point with its black gloved finger. Snape walked towards the gravestone a couple steps before turning back again. “Surely his fate could be changed too? If he changed?” 

When the spirit did not answer Snape took another step towards the gravestone, now seeing the name upon it was covered with snow. He looked back at the spirit. “Any fate can be

changed! Even the most wretched man can be good.” The spirit’s finger, pointing at the stone behind Snape, was despair itself. And as Snape took another step forward he cried out, “Please, spirit! Speak! Do not just stand there silently!” 

Snape took a final step forward and was now close enough to the rounded gray stone to touch it. As he raised his hand to brush away the writing he turned back. “Spirit, I can change! I’ll not overwhelm my students with work, or bully them! I’ll help Harry Potter to live! I will live my life in the Past, the Present, and the Future and carry the spirit of Christmas in my heart for the entirety of the year! I can be better, just please, let me sponge away the writing on that stone!” 

The spirit did naught but continue to point directly at the gravestone on which Snape knew whose name was written. With trembling fingers he reached out and smoothed the snow from the cold gray stone. Upon it, in a solemn font, two words were written: Severus Snape. 

Snape turned around and found the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come standing directly behind him, as motionless as ever. “Oh, spirit,” he cried, gripping the silky dark robes of the ghost, which were surprisingly corporeal. “Please, you cannot have shown me this for no reason! I can change, please…” 

As he began to weep into the fabric the graveyard slowly vanished along with the stone that had brought him such pain. He opened his eyes and found in his hands not dark robes but his own bedsheets. 

Stave V. 

The gentle light of the morning bathed Snape’s chambers as he looked around in shock. He frantically scanned the room for a moment before exclaiming, “They’re here! My curtains, my slippers, my bedsheets! They are all still here!” 

Snape was grinning ear to ear like a madman. “Oh yes, spirits, how I shall change! I shall live with the spirit of Christmas never leaving my heart, I swear it! Oh, how I swear it!” He let out a delighted laugh as he quickly began to dress. Once he had donned his robes he bounded down the corridor to the Headmaster’s office. 

Dumbledore, who was still sleeping in his portrait, was awoken by a loud, “Merry Christmas!” He gazed in astonishment at Severus Snape as he pulled back the portrait to retrieve the Sword of Gryffindor. “Have a wonderful day, Albus!” he exclaimed as he left, Dumbledore still speechless with shock. 

Snape dashed down out of the Headmaster’s office, taking the stairs two at a time. When he rushed into the corridor he spotted the caroling Dennis Creevey from the day before. As Dennis walked by he stopped upon seeing Snape, letting out a squeak of terror. “Mr. Creevey,” Snape said before Dennis could flee. “What day is it?” 

The student blinked up at him. “Why, it’s Christmas day, Headmaster.” 

Snape’s eyes widened in delight. “It is! The spirits did it all in one night! Of course they did, they are very powerful, you know.” 

Dennis stared at him and nodded slowly, looking very confused and very nervous. “O-of course, Headmaster.” 

“Mr. Creevey,” Snape said. “Would you be able to fetch a turkey from the kitchens? They are hidden behind a painting of pears. Take as much food as you can carry and bring it to me!” He tossed a Galleon to the student, who stared down at it in awe. 

“Merry Christmas, my dear student!” Snape cried as he began to walk down the corridor in the opposite direction. After a moment he threw another Galleon at Dennis, who caught it, looking down at it in amazement before resuming his dash downstairs.

As Snape made his way through the halls he spotted the two Hufflepuffs who had come to him with a petition the day before. They both froze when they noticed him approaching, smiles dropping. 

“Merry Christmas,” he said as he walked up. They stared at him in identical bemused silence. “I would like to inform you that all homework has been cancelled for the entirety of Christmas break!” 

“Really?!” one of them cried, their face lighting up. Snape nodded. “I shall use my authority as headmaster to order all other teachers refrain from assigning homework as well.” “We have to tell… everyone!” exclaimed the other Hufflepuff. They paused, then removed their rainbow-striped scarf and handed it to Snape. “Merry Christmas, professor!” they said before they and their friend ran off to tell the whole school the good news, hand in hand. 

Snape smiled to himself, wrapping the scarf around his neck. He believed it may have been the first Christmas gift he had ever received. 

As he continued to stride down the hallways of Hogwarts, a procession of students thanking him profusely formed of its own accord. He wished each and every one of them a very merry Christmas all the way to the teachers’ lounge. After telling the students to disperse for the moment as he tapped on the wall with his wand, the door to the hidden room appeared. When McGonagall opened it he beamed at her. 

“Merry Christmas, Minerva!” he said, and waved for Dennis Creevey to hand her a large plate of festively decorated cookies. After a moment of stunned silence McGonagall smiled back. “Merry Christmas, Severus. Won’t you stay?” 

Snape shook his head. “I should have time to return before the day is out, however I have a few errands to run.”

After a few minutes of walking he strode out of the castle onto the grounds, the procession of students still growing. He stopped on the snow-covered grass that surrounded the castle, his black robes billowing as he turned. “Ginny Weasley,” he called. Ginny’s copper-hued head popped out of the crowd. Even with Snape’s sudden cheer she looked apprehensive, and a few other members of Dumbledore’s Army came to stand beside her before Snape. 

“Miss Weasley, would you come with me to visit your family? I have a few gifts to bring to them.” With a flick of his wand the food levitated out of the arms of Dennis Creevey. Ginny’s eyes widened. “Uh… sure.” 

Snape nodded. “Follow me, then.” He began to walk briskly towards Hogsmeade. Once they were outside the grounds of Hogwarts Snape offered Ginny his hand and with a crack they had apparated away. They reappeared outside the Burrow. Snape raised a hand to knock on the wooden door. Molly Weasley appeared, looking very alarmed at the sudden visit from Snape, of all people. 

“Merry Christmas, Molly,” he said. “Would you like a turkey?” 

Molly shakily took over the levitation spell to whisk the food inside, her eyes so wide it appeared they might pop out of her head. “Merry Christmas, Severus,” she said after a moment. “Thank you ever so much for the food. But why…” 

“You and your family have done much for the Order, and it is time you were rewarded for your efforts,” Snape said. “Gifts of course cannot match your contributions to our cause, but this is the best I could think of to bring.” 

Molly nodded appreciatively. Before she could thank him any more, Snape turned to Ginny. “And you need not worry about Harry, my next stop is to bring him the Sword of Gryffindor.”

Ginny’s entire face lit up. “Thank you, Professor! Merry Christmas!” 

Snape strode away after returning the well-wishes. Though he remembered the snow-laden forest from his visions of Christmas Present, he did not trust himself to apparate there. Instead, he called out, “Expecto Patronum!” 

The small silver doe that appeared took the proffered sword in its semi-corporeal mouth. “Merry Christmas!” Snape told it. It looked back at him with unblinking silver eyes before streaking away into the sky, off to find Harry Potter. 

“Merry Christmas, everyone!” Severus Snape shouted to the world. 

The three spirits who had been watching all burst out in laughter the moment Snape disapparated. 

To his two companions, Sirius exclaimed, “I didn’t expect that to actually work! Can’t believe he got a real redemption arc. Impressive job on our part, right Moony?” The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, who was not in fact a ghost at all, removed his hood, revealing messy brown hair and a scarred, freckled face. He smiled fondly at Sirius. “Indeed. The magic of Christmas, I suppose.” 

Snape spent the next chapter of his life quite merrily, never leaving a good deed undone and always keeping Christmas in his heart. He was soon killed by Voldemort, but up until then he was very jolly indeed. 

And Harry Potter – who did not die – defeated the Dark Lord soon after. Snape’s death was mourned by Harry and the rest of Hogwarts; the crowd who attended his funeral were certainly not there for free lunch.