The fourth installment of
A Sackful of Holiday Horsefeathers
is brought to you in Exciting Panavision Color
"Severus, I've been expecting you," said Professor Sibyll Trelawney, her voice ringing clearly from the sitting room. She peered at him from behind the set of large, bejeweled spectacles that sat atop her nose.
Snape had ascended the ladder and was now afraid to go back down, so he ventured further into the darkness of Trelawney's lair.
"Severus," Trelawney called again. "It is you, isn't it?"
"Yes," the wizard said gruffly. He was moving very slowly to avoid bumping into the students' desks. "I can't see anything, madam. Where are you?"
"I'm over here," called Trelawney. She was seated at a small table gazing into her crystal ball, from which a dim light was emanating. She tapped the orb with her wand, and it glowed brighter.
"Thank you," Snape muttered. He meandered over to her table and sat down on the chair across from her, eyeing its rickety legs with mistrust. He suddenly felt quite large and overweight.
Professor Trelawney folded her delicate hands and looked into his face with curiosity. "How is life treating you lately, Severus?"
Snape squinted. "Wouldn't you already know that?"
Trelawney rolled her eyes. "Just for once, can't I have an ordinary conversation with somebody? Can't I just ask questions with my voice instead of using my Inner Eye all the time? I mean, it's a very precious gift and not one to be used for unnecessary purposes."
"I see," said the wizard.
"So, if you'll allow me to continue," said the psychic, pushing up her sleeves, "we will start with your dreaming life."
Snape glanced up sharply, meeting her eyes, and his flesh became covered in goosepimples.
"How did you-?"
"I had a glimpse of this conversation," explained Trelawney. "I saw you sitting across from me at this very table discussing a strange dream of yours. So, let us not hinder Fate, but allow it to unfold along its most natural path. Tell me of your dream, Severus. I'm most curious about it."
"Well, I'm not sure where to begin. I was in my office, looking for something, and then I slipped and I... fell down. After that, I have no recollection. I must have blacked out," said Snape. Trelawney tilted her head expectantly. "I dreamt of you, and then a wolf, and there was a woman with long, black hair..."
"Minerva McGonagall?" suggested Trelawney.
Snape winced. "She was petting the wolf, or the dog, or what have you--"
"It was a wolf," Trelawney said sharply. "Don't change the details. You know what it was."
Snape was apprehensive now. It was a comical sight: the potions teacher with the long untidy hair wearing his black robes and a timid expression on his face.
"All right, then, Professor Trelawney. I will tell you everything!" he yelled defiantly, trying to mask his fear. "I had a dream about Minerva McGonagall. She was standing right over there, behind a wolf. She was caressing him, fondling him, and she was beautiful and young, and naked. I wanted her; I wanted to bring her down on the floor and ravage her--"
"Really, Severus. I don't want to hear everything," Trelawney broke in.
"Then the wolf charged after me and nearly killed me!" finished Snape, pretending that he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary.
"And what was I doing in the dream?" asked Trelawney suspiciously. She hoped that she at least had clothes on.
"You were, well, you were just sitting there with some Tarot cards," said Snape. "And then you disappeared and the wolf was sitting there instead."
"And when you say 'wolf,' you mean Remus Lupin." Trelawney was speaking quickly now. "There is no way of getting around that, you know it, too. You long for what he has, and when you look at him, you feel jealousy ripping through your body. This jealousy inflicts more pain than his fangs could have done years ago. You know of what I am speaking: when you entered the Whomping Willow and almost met the werewolf face to face. You were spared from him then, but there is nothing to spare you from him now. I can see the pain searing through you. It is destroying your aura; it is tearing you up inside. Severus, you must stop this. You must stop this immediately. Cease this senseless obsession, lest your emotions betray you."
"But what can I do?" exclaimed Severus Snape. "I hate him! I want him dead! He ought to be in Azkaban Prison, that filthy werewolf!"
"Please, Severus," Trelawney implored. "I cannot read for you if you persist with this behavior. I will not have negative energy poisoning my place of residence."
Snape put his head down, running his hands through the thick mass of hair upon his crown.
Trelawney had noted the desperate look in his eyes. She must be very careful what she say to him.
"In my experience," said Trelawney, "it's never too late to change one's outlook on life. You'd be amazed at the difference a new smoky quartz can make, or an hour of meditation, or even a new outfit. Ah-ha!" She paused dramatically. "Is that how it's going to be?"
Snape looked up; the seer seemed to be talking to herself. "What?" he inquired suspiciously.
"Hmmm? Oh, nothing. I just had a vision," Trelawney said dismissively.
"What kind of vision?"
"Oh, something that will happen tomorrow," she said.
"Good or bad?"
"Good, very good," Trelawney assured him. "Tell me, are you in the habit of collecting shampoo bottles?"
"No..."
"Really? Because I see you in my vision, and you're surrounded by many bottles of shampoo," declared Trelawney. "I don't quite know what it means. I was hoping you'd be able to tell me."
Snape fidgeted. "I did steal a hair dryer from Lockhart once," he admitted.
Trelawney murmured, "Aaahhh," nodding her head in a knowing fashion. "Yes, the hair dryer! I was wondering where that fit in! Now I realize what my vision pertains to. I saw you setting your alarm clock an hour early. And then you were standing amidst a torrent of falling water, cascading all over your body--"
"Not more thundershowers," muttered Snape.
"What was that?"
"I said I love taking showers," said Snape.
"Oh." Trelawney smiled warmly. "Yes, that is exactly what I was about to say. You will acquire an intense love of bathing, starting tomorrow. I have some conditioner you can borrow; the ladies simply adore the scent of a male fresh out of the shower. Ah, he smells so clean and vibrant! Not to say you aren't already vibrant. So, you will pay extra attention to your hair and skin, perhaps with the aid of some exfoliant, and then you will waltz into breakfast knowing that you are the spitting image of every woman's fantasy. You will be confident and charming, and your smile will glow. And your teeth--why, your teeth will be pearly white and sparkling! My, what an exhausting vision!" Trelawney sighed, wiping her palm across her forehead. "They do tire one out."
"But it was fascinating," Snape said. "I had no idea that any of that was going to happen tomorrow."
"That's why I'm the psychic, and you're the potions teacher," said Trelawney.
"Of course."
"Have you any more questions, Severus?"
"No, thank you. In the last ten minutes, I've had enough dealings with the Inner Eye to last me a lifetime."
Professor Trelawney smiled. "Why, that's wonderful. But do stop in again if ever you need to."
"Thank you, I'll keep that in mind," Snape remarked. He slowly stood up and walked toward the exit. Then, looking back briefly at her crystal ball, he climbed back down the ladder and descended the spiral staircase. Before going to sleep, he set his alarm clock an hour ahead and got out Lockhart's old hairdryer, just in case Fate neglected to remind him in the morning.
***
A luminescent object was hovering in front of Hermione's face.
"Open your mouth, dear," instructed the nurse, holding out the thermometer-like instrument. It looked suspiciously like a dentist's tool of torture.
Hermione opened her mouth, and Madam Pomfrey placed the object upon her tongue. "You two are up next," she called cheerfully to Ginny and Draco.
***
An hour later, Ron and Harry were pounding on the entrance to Albus Dumbledore's office.
"What do you want?" snapped the gargoyle next to the door.
"We want to see Professor Dumbledore!" yelled Harry. "It's very important."
"What is this matter that's so important?" questioned the gargoyle.
"Hermione and Ginny are missing," Harry said quickly. "And we think Malfoy's behind it."
"Ah, that," said the gargoyle. "His Lordship has already taken care of it."
"His Lordship?" Ron gaped at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Pardon me, young Weasley. I meant to say that Dumbledore has already taken care of the matter. I suggest you return to your dormitory and get some sleep," the gargoyle said.
Pointing to the statue, Ron whispered, "What is this thing, Harry? Some new butler of Dumbledore's?"
"I guess so." Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe he's tired of answering the door all the time."
"Yeah, guess so." Ron shrugged. They returned to Gryffindor quarters, where they found Ginny and Hermione sleeping soundly on the two comfiest couches. The girls' examinations had been so long and arduous they’d passed out right there in the common room from sheer exhaustion.
Of course, Ron and Harry didn't know any of that. They stood there for several minutes scratching their heads over the perplexing sight in front of them.
"Harry--d'ya think they coulda been here the whole time, and we just didna notice 'em?" said Ron.
"You know, Ron, I don't know what to think," said Harry. "Maybe we'll figure it out in the morning."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Ron.
***
Alas, Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter did not figure it out in the morning. In response to the boys' obnoxious inquiries, Hermione and Ginny remained strangely silent on the matter of their whereabouts the previous evening.
Ron complained about this to his friend shortly after getting out of the shower. "Why is she always keeping secrets from us?" he whined, shaking water droplets from his red hair.
"She seems angry with us," observed Harry.
"Maybe," said Ron. "But we haven't done anything. Why would she be angry?"
"She's a girl. They start acting funny at this age," explained Harry.
"Oh, yeah." Ron took Harry's word for it, since he wouldn't know himself. All of Ron's older siblings were males.
***
In the dining hall, three staff members were conducting what appeared to be a very confidential meeting. Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey had received a summons to meet with Albus Dumbledore that morning. He wanted to follow up on the results of Pomfrey's physical examinations.
He gestured toward the empty table. "Have a seat." The women made themselves comfortable, and he proceeded with the meeting.
"Madam Pomfrey, did you find anything at all in the test results?" he asked.
"No."
"What was that?"
"No, sir. I didn't find anything at all."
"I don't understand... No spells? No dark magic?" Dumbledore was now pacing to and fro.
"The children are in perfect health," continued Pomfrey. "Absolutely sound in mind and body. You couldn't find a healthier batch o' li'l uns in all of Scotland."
"Do you say?" Dumbledore's voice had risen a whole octave.
McGonagall said, "Maybe I should have a talk with them--you know, individually. Hermione will talk to me, and so will Ginny. They can talk to me about anything."
"And what about Draco Malfoy?" said Dumbledore. "Do you think he would talk to you, as well?"
McGonagall sighed. "I'm afraid the only teacher he would confide in is Severus Snape. And that man is in no condition to offer guidance to a young boy."
"No, no he isn't," said Pomfrey with a shake of her head.
McGonagall said optimistically, "But maybe there isn't anything to worry about. Look at it this way: ever since Draco came to this school, we've been hoping that he'd learn how to fit in with the other students and stop being such a stuck-up, racist Malfoy. And now he seems to be getting nicer. Maybe he's finally growing up."
"And maybe I'll finally have a permanent Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher," muttered Dumbledore.
"What, you don't think Draco's capable of changing?" demanded McGonagall.
"No, I don't. He's been groomed and polished as a Malfoy since the day he was born," declared Dumbledore. "I don't see what could make him change so quickly."
Just then, Severus Snape entered the dining hall. He stopped short as the teachers' heads swiveled around to stare at him. All discussion of Hermione, Ginny and Draco abruptly ended.
Snape was wearing a light fur cape of a silvery hue, and his hair had been washed at least three times, for it was now wavy and soft instead of oily. He had brushed it away from his face into a dignified ponytail, and it became him quite well, giving him a most aristocratic air. As Snape met his colleagues’ eyes, he forced his lips into a smile. A smile--such an alien landform across his weathered face! However, his face did look somehow less weathered today. It was, without a doubt, because of the moisturizing lotion he’d rubbed all over his skin.
"How do you fare this morning, Severus?" McGonagall broke the silence.
"I'm no worse off than yesterday," remarked Snape, wishing they wouldn't stare at him so. He wasn't used to getting attention.
Dumbledore stepped forward. "Is that a new robe, Severus?"
"No; it belonged to my father," answered Snape. "So, what were you all discussing just now?"
"Nothing," said Dumbledore.
"Oh, really?" said Snape, scrutinizing the old man with his piercing black eyes. He could tell the Headmaster was lying.
"Yes," said Dumbledore, trying to shake off the unnerving sensation that Snape was reading his mind. "Why don't you take a seat; it's nearly time for breakfast."
"Are you planning on making any more alterations to this Secret Santa game?" questioned Snape as he sat down beside Madam Pomfrey.
"No. The rules will remain the same. I only have one change in my daily agenda, and that is to make my announcements in International Sign Language," stated Dumbledore.
"What?" the three adults exclaimed in unison.
"I do believe sign language is one of the most beautiful forms of communication used by mortals. In addition to being aesthetically pleasing, it is also universal--understandable to people of all different languages and dialects," said Dumbledore. "And I would like Minerva to translate for me."
"Why, sir," began Minerva McGonagall. "I'll try my best, but it's been such a long time since I've signed--"
"You'll do fine," said Dumbledore. "Oh, and I also have one more question. What belt is Remus up to now?"
"Fourth degree black belt," replied McGonagall. "Why?"
"It's about time we give the students something constructive to do," said Dumbledore. "They should benefit from some martial arts instruction."
"Oh, I see." McGonagall’s eyes widened, taking in his meaning. Left to their own devices, the teenagers would naturally gravitate towards activities of a certain clandestine nature. They would have to be provided with more mental stimulation.
***
Those were the events leading up to McGonagall's fumbling and fuming at the breakfast table. Soon after the students and staff had all assembled in the dining hall, Dumbledore arose and cracked his knuckles noisily. Then, without warning, he began moving his hands in mid-air. To those unfamiliar with the language of the deaf, they appeared to be dancing.
"What is he doing?" whispered Ginny to no one in particular.
McGonagall struggled to keep pace. "Today is Saturday, December 23rd. We have two days left before Christmas, and you know what that means. Time to get settled down and think about what you want to give your Secret Santa partner. Professor Flitwick has agreed to teach us some useful charms for eating as many munchies as we like and not gaining a pound. Which reminds me--after breakfast, you will immediately go to the--what in the world is that?"
Dumbledore had made a gesture that was beyond her recognition. Trying to make her understand, he pointed to the wall.
"The wall?" cried McGonagall. "But why would anyone--"
Dumbledore shook his head. His hand was jumping over an invisible obstacle.
"You want them to go over a hill?" guessed McGonagall. "A sledding trip? No?"
Professor Flitwick joined in, "A skiing trip! With little bunny slopes!"
Dumbledore sent him a quizzical look. Flitwick whispered to the 2nd year Chrystal, "I thought we were playing charades. Didn't you?"
McGonagall ventured, "Oh, I've got it! Snow shoeing!"
Dumbledore wildly shook his head. "The Veranda," he enunciated. "I want them to gather on the veranda for a lesson."
"Oh," said McGonagall, folding her hands primly. She turned to the students, "The Headmaster would like you to report to the veranda after breakfast." Dumbledore made another series of signs. "For martial arts lessons, taught by Master Lupin--" The boys let out whoops of excitement. She translated the last words of his sentence, "'and Professor McGonagall.' Why, that's me! But I don't know anything about Tae Kwon Do!"
McGonagall clasped her hands together. "All right then, doesn't that sound like fun? I can hardly wait," she said without much enthusiasm and sat down to eat. She conveniently assumed that Dumbledore had no further announcements and spread a large pat of butter on her pancakes.
***
Now that everyone was no longer distracted by Dumbledore's rapid signing, several people noticed Snape's new look. Trelawney wasn't around to claim her work, so they had to endure their curiosity. Snape was not in the mood to make small talk.
"Can you please pass the maple syrup?" Draco asked Ron.
Ron took one look at Draco's downtrodden face and nearly fainted. "Am I in an alternate universe?" Ron blurted out.
"Yes. You're in a universe in which all maple syrup has been replaced by molasses," said Draco. "Now can I please have my syrup? Pancakes getting cold over here." He hated to reach over and grab the jar himself; it was so common. Draco was raised to have decent table manners.
"Okay," sighed Ron and passed him the jar of maple syrup. He thought he heard Draco utter a whispered 'thank you.' Ron raised his eyebrows, wondering what else could possibly happen today.
........................to be continued