A Christmas Nightmare

4. THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS

Was there a more detestable sound than the earpiercing ringing of a bell at about one o' clock in the morning? Snape didn't think so. He turned on his stomach and put his pillow over his head, trying to shut out the noise.

Finally it ceased and he should have been glad about the silence. Except he wasn't. The room somehow was too quiet now, quiet and cold. So cold.

Something is wrong. And you know perfectly well what it is, you just don't want to believe it. Something is in here and it isn't only Crazy Christmas Spirit No. 3, which be bad enough, it's something else.

Snape couldn't ignore the presence in his bedroom any better than he could overlook Granger standing on tiptoes in the front row because she knew the answer. He lifted his head and saw he had guessed right.

Hovering in the corner next to the door was a tall figure shrouded in black robes and a hood which kept its face hidden in shadows like a Death Eater, but Death Eaters didn't emit invisible clouds of coldness and misery: It was a Dementor.

Slowly, purposefully it began to move across the room towards Snape's bed. The Dementor was cornering him, it came nearer and nearer and he pressed himself flat against the wall to escape it - the Dementor stretched out a pale dead hand - and Snape sank through the wall.

When he dared to re-open his eyes and started breathing again, he stood in a dim, dirty pub. The Dementor was there, too; however it seemed less intimidating now that it was in a - if only halfheartedly - lit room. It passed Snape a small card reading: I am the Spirit of Christmas That Soon Will Be.

"I know," said Snape, not even trying to lower his voice. The so-called Spirit wouldn't hurt him but show something to him and the other people in the pub couldn't hear him anyway. It was an unpleasant surprise to discover that he knew some of the customers.

"No," said a tall man with sleek blond hair. "My son couldn't tell me anything else - he has been a useful source of information from time to time, but I suppose that under the current circumstances the teachers aren't as confiding as they used to be....I only know he's dead."

"Do you know...I mean, do you have any clue as to who was assigned, Malfoy?" asked Macnair. He was scratching his behind, and the difficulty of scratching and talking at the same time furrowed his brow.

"I only know I wasn't," said Malfoy and smirked into his goblet, pretending not to notice Macnairs behaviour. Some people simply had no style.

"I only wonder what took the Lord so long to get rid of him, I thought he'd never do it."

"The Dark Lord has his reasons," replied Malfoy sharply. "That is all we need to know."

Snape found himself trying to guess who they were talking about. Malfoy had mentioned his son and the teachers...someone was dead - someone had been killed in Hogwarts. Who?

It can't be Potter...the Dark Lord wouldn't have assigned anyone else to this task...and surely the Death Eaters would be celebrating, not drinking, if it were Dumbledore...

The Dementor interrupted his thoughts by rattling pathetically and laying its hand onto Snape's shoulder. Snape shuddered. The touch was cold and unpleasantly heavy, but he let himself be steered out of the pub and through a maze of narrow lanes until they reached a slovenly backyard. A short man with shabby clothes and a face like a basset hound's was leaning against the wall between two dented dustbins: Mundungus Fletcher.

Here we go again, thought Snape. Apparently he's waiting for some "trade partners".

And sure enough they heard the sound of small feet shuffling towards the backyard. It was an old, if not to say ancient house-elf, and one Snape knew from his visits in Black's rundown house. Kreacher? What is Kreacher doing - Kreacher was followed by a massive blonde woman, and soon a man whose jovial smile seemed to be frozen on his face joined the little group around Fletcher. All of them were carrying small bundles.

"So. What 'ave you got to sell?" asked Fletcher, not without throwing nervous looks first.

The man gave him a false smile. "I hope you're getting good odds for this, Dung ...the goblins are not used to be kept waiting ... er, if you need an expert's advice on this, I mean, feel free to ask me, oh, when I was younger, I..."

"I'm not interested in your stories, Ludo. I only want to see what you got me."

Snape bit his lip. The man was looking like Ludo Bagman alright, but he didn't quite..."an expert's advice on this...feel free to ask me"...No. Bagman wasn't too good for a bit of self-praise now and then, but he had been pretty flustered after losing his money to the goblins. And he would never go as far as to pretend to be an expert in black marketeering.

He sounds like that git Lockhart. This makes absolutely no sen would he be selling anything to Fletcher? Or, for that matter, why would Kreacher? Or that terrible Kimmkorn woman?

All three of them had now opened their bundles and revealed severel precious and only all too familiar items. Fletcher handled the fragile phiols and little wooden boxes with great care.

"Er. I ...I'm not sure if I know the right...customers. Perhaps you should 'ave contacted Malfoy...", he looked at them almost plaintive. "I mean, did - are you sure no one will miss these things?"

Kreacher bowed low. "Greasy lying traitor will not miss anything. Greasy lying traitor has been punished. Kreacher knows..."

His laugh showed pointed, yellowed teeth. Fletcher shrank back, and the Kimmkorn woman had a hard time not showing her disgust.

"Y..yes," said Fletcher. "We know he is dead. Er. Er. Let's see...If you give me three day's time, maybe I could arrange..."

Snape didn't listen anymore. He knew who they (and the Death Eaters) were talking about, but he wasn't too worried, as he now strongly suspected something else as well ...He - or maybe it - got it wrong. Bagman is a mistake...and there was also ... in the first dream...

The Dementor had noticed Snape's sudden loss of interest. It touched his shoulder again, then stretched its long arm and pointed towards the wall.It silently dissolved into a cloud of dust. Through the hole they had a good view into a kitchen. The Weasleys. Again. Snape surpressed a bored sigh - it didn't pay off to show what you knew.

The Weasleys' kitchen was as crowded as before but it certacked the exciting atmosphere of festive business. The troublesome twins were sitting in a corner and staring glumly at their game of cards. Mrs Weasley was cutting onions for the salad. And Percy had appearently regained his brains and rejoined the family, for now he looked up from his heap of scrolls and letters on the kitchen table and said:

"The amount of work, you know, is by no means decreasing during the holidays, and in my position I feel I have to set an example for the Ministry."

Yet his tone was apologetic rather than filled with his usual pompous arrogance.

"Yes.." said his mother absently and, having cut all the onions, almost cut her own finger as well. She let go of the knife and looked at the family clock.

"I think your father will be late again," Mrs Weasley murmured, her gaze resting on the long finger pointing to Visiting Relatives. Then her eyes shifted towards the shortest finger whose formerly brilliant pink colour had faded, and which would never move again. Alas for Giddy Ginny! Her finger was now permanently fixed to Heaven / Hell. Mrs Weasly burst into tears. Snape only looked at the Dementor.

"I am not sure I believe anything of this," he said coldly. He had finally remembered the mistake in his first Christmas nightmare. She had red hair. Lily wasn't a blonde. She had RED hair. The Dementor made a sudden move and snatched Snape's collar, dragging him closer. It reached into the depths of its robes and held another piece of paper. `Soon you will have no more doubts, unbeliever.`

When the Dementor released Snape, he fell onto his knees and found it a fairly appropriate position, as they were in front of a grave. Snape leaned forward to read the epitaph.

SEVERUS SNAPE

"everybody gets what he deserves"

He sucked in his breath, then stood up and turned to face the Dementor.

"I suspected as much. And, if you will allow me a word, I suspect even more. This series of `dreams` is exceptionally ridiculous. I might not have been what you call `a good man` in my past, and it is common knowledge that I do not come up to anyone's expectations for the sake of being popular. However, I absolutely refuse to accept that this version of the future is the truth - I do not believe in such things as fate and have never allowed anyone to manipula-te my life. My only question is this: What the heck, Albus, do you want from me?"

The Dementor lowered his hand and reached inside his robes. He passed Snape another sheet of paper. The correct words should have been: `I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all year. I will live in the Past, the Present and the Future. The Spirits of all three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me that I may sponge away the writing on this stone!`. I have to inform you that you failed the test. Now I will kiss you. MuhaHAHA!

Snape looked up. He was staring directly into the hollow eyes of the "Christmas Spirit".