Snape lay groaning on the floor of his bedroom for some time, before pulling himself to his feet. As he did so, suddenly the mysterious clock on the mantelpiece began to chime again, this time ushering in the second hour. At the moment of the last chime, a bright light shone out from behind Snape’s bedroom door.
Throwing open the door, Snape discovered the light was coming from downstairs, from his sitting room. Nervously, he took out his wand and slowly made his way down the stairs. Just as he was about to burst into the room, a head stuck itself out of the doorway and said, “Are you coming in or not?”
Now a head sticking itself out of a doorway is not in itself a strange occurrence. However, it is, to say the least, unusual when it is not accompanied by a neck, or anything else that would seemingly attach it to a body, as was apparently the case with this particular head. It was the head of a smiling, middle-aged man, resplendent in beard and moustache. It bobbed there in mid-air for a moment, before snapping back inside the room.
Snape followed. Entering his sitting room, he stopped in amazement. The room had been completely transformed. The usually dark and dismal room was filled with light. A log fire roared merrily in the hearth. The walls were festooned with decorations: tinsel hanging from the bookshelves, fairy lights strung across the ceiling, holly hanging from the walls. A tall Christmas tree was squeezed into one corner, covered in lights and baubles and with a bright star shining from atop it. And spread across the floor and tables were piles of food and treats: turkey, Christmas pudding, mince pies, Christmas cake, boxes of chocolates, punch bowls filled with mulled wine. It was as if a small portion of the Hogwarts Christmas feast had exploded inside his sitting room.
Standing amidst this glorious scene was a ghost. His head still floated above his shoulders, although Snape could now see that a slender sliver of flesh connected it to the rest of his body. What remained of the ghost’s neck was concealed by a large ruff, below which he wore a finely-tailored period costume. The ghost pushed his errant head back down onto his shoulders with a squelch and beamed another wide smile.
“Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. Resident Gryffindor House ghost,” said Snape icily. The presence of anything Gryffindor rarely put him in a good mood.
Sir Nicholas looked pleasantly surprised at Snape’s greeting. “No one ever addresses me by my proper name any more,” he said warmly. “Thank you. However tonight, you may refer to me as the Ghost of Christmas Present.”
“What on earth have you done to my room?” complained Snape.
“Do you like it?” asked Nick, seemingly oblivious to Snape’s obvious scowl of disgust. “Best that could be whipped up on short notice. I would have preferred a more traditional fifteenth-century look, but I was told this was the way it had to be.”
“Told?” asked Snape suspiciously. “By whom? Who is sending you all to me?”
Nick did not answer. Instead, he said, “You must try some of this food. If you don’t, the house-elves will be most put out. Here, try a mince pie. Or maybe you’d prefer one of these caramel-centred chocolates.”
“Humbug,” snarled Snape.
“Er, over there by the chestnuts,” said Nick, indicating a bag of sweets. There was a brief awkward pause as both men contemplated the tragic inevitability of the author throwing in the obvious A Christmas Carol joke at some point in the story. Finally Nick said, “Er, right, anyway, maybe we’d better get going. I have a lot to show you.”
“What was the point of all this, then?” asked Snape, indicating the piles of food and decorations. “To prove to me that Christmas is a time for excess and over-indulgence?”
Nick’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Snape. “What you call excess, others might call celebration. Is it not fair that ordinary, hard-working people should have one day in a year given over to the pure enjoyment of life? Would you deny it to them, Professor? And why do you deny it to yourself? If you will not enjoy what is put before you here, then come, let me show you what Christmas can do for others.”
Nick beckoned Snape out of the door he had just entered by. But when he stepped through it again, he found himself not in his hallway, but in a wide snow-covered street under a bright clear sky. He rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the light and looked behind him, but no trace of the doorway through which he had passed could be seen.
He was in Hogsmeade, Hogsmeade High Street on Christmas morning. Most of the shops were shut, but a few were open and the taverns were doing roaring business. The street was thronged with people, hurrying through the snow, on their way to meet up with friends or family, to attend church, or simply to bask in the atmosphere of Christmas Day. But wherever they were going, no matter how rushed they were, each stopped to wish a “Merry Christmas” to every acquaintance or stranger they encountered, and to share marvels at the wonder of the day.
Snape and Nick, however, passed through the crowds unseen, invisible to those around them. None stopped to wish Snape the compliments of the season and, for the first time, Snape regretted not being able to share in their joy. To Snape’s logical mind, Christmas was a day like any other; the sun rose and set as it always did. Yet the effect it had on each and every person was plain to see as Snape walked down the high street. “Sir Nicholas, is there magic in Christmas?” Snape asked.
Nick chuckled. “Dumbledore would have said so,” he answered, “yet no spell or enchantment is at work, and no power save one.”
“What power is that?”
“The power of love,” Nick replied. “Come, let me show you.” Nick took Snape off the High Street and onto the residential streets. They passed from house to house and, looking through the windows, Snape saw family after family gathered around together laughing and talking, sharing time together. Ordinary lives, filled with happiness by nothing more than a turning of a calendar, pondered Snape.
(Of course, Nick did not take him to any of the houses where extended families who only met once a year were having blazing rows over decades-old trivial slights, or where wives were stressing over Christmas dinner and moaning that their husbands weren’t lifting a finger to help, or where kids overdosed on sugar and chocolate were driving their parents crazy, because that would rather have defeated his point. Besides, this is an adaptation of A Christmas Carol, not East Enders. To return to the plot…)
Nick eventually brought Snape to a small house close to the edge of the village. Taking him by the hand, he led him straight through the closed door into the house. Snape found the sensation of passing through solid matter for the first time quite unnerving. “Would you warn me the next time you’re going to do that?” he demanded.
“Sorry,” Nick replied. “I’ve been doing it for five hundred years. I don’t even think about it any more.”
“What are we doing here?” asked Snape. Nick simply gestured down the hallway. Snape could hear the sound of talking and laughter coming from the front room. Puzzled, he walked down the hall, through the (thankfully open) door and into the room.
It was a pleasant, welcoming room, with a lavishly decorated Christmas tree in one corner, and a roaring fire in the grate. A gathering of half a dozen people, each with broad grins on their faces, sat around in armchairs drinking cups of mulled wine. The people were of varying ages but, most noticeably, of varying heights. The shortest of them was regaling the others with a tale.
“And what did he say to that, Uncle Filius?” asked a young man in his twenties, and a little under five foot.
“Naturally, he declined,” said Professor Flitwick, for it was he, “and in terms most graphic and unsuitable for present company, I must say. But I had to ask.”
“But why?” asked a woman (mid-forties, five foot two). “Everyone knows how awful Snape is, no matter how much of a hero he might be. Why would you want to inflict him on us? Leave him to wallow in his own misery.”
“And what good would that do him, Claudia?” said Flitwick. “He will remain a miserable wretch for the rest of his life, unless someone actually tries to change him. I suspect he is beyond changing himself. At Christmas of all times, we must extend goodwill to our fellow man. Even if our fellow man is Severus Snape.” Snape glanced at Nick, standing at his shoulder, but said nothing.
“What amazes me,” said Flitwick’s nephew, “is how a man who sacrificed so much for us could so shun the community that owes him such a great deal.”
“Snape has always loathed the limelight,” Flitwick answered. “What he did in the war, he did for his own reasons, and I doubt we shall ever fully understand them. But I don’t think he can ever get past what happened. It’s as if he was ready to die in that battle, and now he has survived, he has nothing left to live for. He couldn’t change or move on. That’s why he went back to the Potions job, I think. He crawled back into the comfortable hole he had made for himself before, and can never leave.”
“It almost sounds as if you feel pity for him,” said Claudia, surprised. “For Snape?”
“Strange as though it may seem, I do somewhat,” said Flitwick. “But I would never dare to let him know that. He would take it as the worst insult imaginable.” Snape said nothing as Nick took him by the shoulder and guided him out of the house.
“There is more to see,” said Nick. He took Snape on, and they went from scene to scene across wizarding Britain, passing instantly from one place to another and seeing more of the joy and happiness of normal households at Christmas, but Snape let them pass by almost without noticing, lost as he was in his own thoughts.
At last they came to London, and passed down its narrow streets until Snape found himself standing in a wide familiar square. Nick pointed towards a row of tall terraced houses on one side. “Do you see?” he said.
Snape saw, though he wished he couldn’t. Between two houses, a third was growing, pushing its way out between the others to reveal itself. “Twelve, Grimmauld Place,” Snape uttered, aghast. “Oh no, Sir Nicholas. Of all places, don’t make me go in there.”
“You must,” said Nick. “Go on.” With extreme reluctance, Snape walked up to the door and passed inside.
It had been years since Snape had last set foot inside number twelve, and the place had changed out of all recognition in that time. Gone was the darkness, the dinginess and the sense of foreboding. Gone were the endless portraits of decrepit nobles, and the grisly trophies and ornaments of centuries of elitism and Dark magic. In their place was a bright, welcoming home that spoke of family and togetherness. Children’s pictures were stuck to the walls. A row of tiny shoes lined the hall just inside the door. Family photographs were hanging all the way up the staircase. The overall effect made the house seem much bigger and more open than Snape remembered it.
The unmistakeable excited shouts of children were coming from below Snape’s feet. Nick pointed to the staircase down to the basement, and Snape descended.
He found himself in the long narrow kitchen with the dining table set down the middle. Decorations and strings of Christmas cards hung from the ceiling. At the far end, in front of the stove, Ginny Potter, her long red hair tied up with a tinsel hairband, was busy preparing dinner. Around the table, and between its legs, two children were running, chasing each other round and round. Suddenly, they chose the same direction to turn at once, and crashed into each other, nearly pulling the tablecloth (and plates, cutlery and crackers) down on top of them. “Watch it, you two!” yelled Ginny.
“Sowwy,” said young Lily. At four, she was well past the age when she could talk properly, yet she had discovered a well-placed “sowwy” never failed to have the desired effect.
“I’m bored,” moaned James, getting to his feet and leaning on one of the chairs. “Can I go and play with the rubber Bludger Teddy got me?”
“I am not letting you get that out inside,” insisted Ginny. “Besides, your dad and Al will be back any minute, and then it’ll be dinnertime.”
Good, thought Snape, Potter’s not here yet. “Right, well, I’ve seen this place now,” he said to Nick. “Let’s get on to the next one, shall we?”
“Not so fast,” said Nick with a smile. “We’re not going anywhere yet.” I was afraid of that, thought Snape.
Above their heads, they heard the front door slam and footsteps in the hall. “Daddy’s home!” cried Lily, and ran to the foot of the stairs to look up.
Harry Potter descended the stairs and, neatly stepping over his welcoming daughter, entered the kitchen. He was carrying Tiny Albus on his shoulders. The boy looked pale and was shivering, but wore a defiant smile on his face. Harry set him down, and he hobbled to his place at the table and sat down expectantly. Snape could not but help look into his green eyes for a moment, the same eyes as his father and grandmother.
“How was the churchyard?” Ginny asked Harry.
“Beautiful,” replied Harry. “Al just sat there with me in front of the grave and asked all sorts of clever questions about his grandparents. I’m so glad I took him.”
“What grave is he talking about?” Snape asked Nick.
“His parents’,” Nick replied. “He first visited their grave at Christmas and goes every year now.”
“Hey, why did only Al get to go?” asked James.
There was an uncomfortable pause. “Because your father and I thought it best that Al learn something about his grandparents,” said Ginny eventually. A glance passed between Ginny and Harry, and Snape picked up on the unspoken reason, that Albus might not have another chance to share his father’s Christmas tradition.
“Sir Nicholas,” asked Snape, “what illness does Albus have?”
“Nobody knows,” answered Nick. “It has proved a complete mystery. Some think he was born with the condition, whilst others suspect it is the effect of some curse inflicted on him by one of the many Dark wizards with a grudge against Harry. The trouble is, there is no one with a sufficient knowledge of Dark magic to determine if that is true.”
Snape could not fail to miss the direction of Nick’s last remark. “He’s never asked me,” he pointed out. “I didn’t even know.”
“Do you need to be asked?” said Nick. “And what would you have done if you had been asked? Do you really think that Harry Potter would dare ask you for help? Is he not too much in your debt already?”
The Potter family had now sat down around the table for their Christmas meal. Crackers were pulled, releasing great clouds of red and yellow smoke. Everyone laughed heartily as the terrible jokes were read out and, to Snape’s dismay, everyone put on their paper party hats. Lily’s was too big and slipped down over her eyes. “Can’t see!” she wailed, and Ginny had to tighten it with a safety pin.
James had got a small toy whistle that blew various tunes in his cracker, and he kept blowing and blowing it until Harry was forced to confiscate it. James sulked moodily for all of ten seconds until Ginny placed the first of the carved turkey on his plate. The feast was very traditional but lavish; no daughter of Molly Weasley would ever be allowed to be anything but an excellent cook. The Potters gorged themselves hungrily, no more than Tiny Albus, who seemed to savour every mouthful with relish.
When their plates were cleared, Harry raised his glass and called for silence. “Silence, silence!” repeated James loudly and cheekily until a look from Ginny persuaded him to stop.
“As always at this time,” said Harry, “we should pay tribute to those known to us without whom we could not celebrate this day together. Those we have lost,” he solemnly, and listed their names, beginning with Albus Dumbledore (to which young Albus cheered) and Sirius Black, and eventually ending with Fred Weasley.
“Also,” continued Harry, “we should give thanks to those still with us who have given the most for us. There are too many to mention, but today, I would like to particularly single out Ron and Hermione, Neville, Luna and Professor McGonagall.” There was general cheering and clapping. “And Professor Snape,” Harry added.
The sound immediately drained out of the room. Everyone looked at each other uncomfortably. At last, Lily broke the silence. “Bad man!” she piped up.
“Professor Snape is not a bad man, Lily,” said Harry sternly.
“Why did you have to bring him up?” demanded Ginny. “On Christmas Day, must we acknowledge such an odious man as Snape?”
“Does he not deserve our thanks for what he did, Ginny?” asked Harry.
“Maybe, but does that excuse his making your life a misery for six years, Harry? Even since the war he has not changed. Did you see his reaction to seeing us yesterday? He would not even look poor Al in the face. The man has not an ounce of feeling in his body.”
“You’re wrong, dear,” Harry replied calmly. “Can you not put aside your feelings for just one day? Do you think we were wrong in choosing Al’s name?”
“What did he mean by that?” Snape asked Nick, but the ghost did not reply.
“Fine,” said Ginny, though the scowl had not faded from her face, “a Merry Christmas to Snape. He’ll be the merriest man in England today, I’m sure.”
“And a Merry Christmas to all,” said Harry, ignoring Ginny’s sarcasm.
“Merry Christmas!” said all the family.
“God bless us, everyone!” added Tiny Albus last of all, but then began coughing and spluttering loudly, and Ginny rushed to his side to tend to him.
“Time to leave,” said Nick, and led Snape out of the house. Darkness had now fallen, and the air was cold. They crossed the square and sat down on a bench.
Snape sat in thought for a long while. Then he said, “Tell me, Sir Nicholas, will Albus survive?”
“I cannot see the future, only the present,” Nick replied. “But if what we have seen is not changed, then I believe he will die.”
“So the future can be changed?” asked Snape desperately. “How? What is the purpose of these visions? Who sent you to me?”
“I cannot answer those questions. My work here is done, and my time with you grows short. I must depart, and leave you with the Third Spirit, the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. Think well on all you have seen, and follow as he leads.” Nick stood up, and slowly faded away into the darkness, leaving Snape all alone.
Snape's Christmas Carol by Sonorus
Chapter Endnotes: For readers unfamiliar with British TV, East Enders is a popular British soap opera, infamous for its always miserable and depressing Christmas storylines.