Harry Potter sat alone by the fireplace at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Snow fell outside the windows of the study. Normally Harry would be at the Burrow on a night like tonight, sharing in the Christmas preparations with Molly, Arthur and their family. Ginny and Harry had rekindled their relationship soon after the Battle of Hogwarts and were going strong—nearly as strong as Ron and Hermione, although not quite. Once those two finally got started, they really took off, almost as if they were trying to make up for lost time. Harry had accompanied Ron into Diagon Alley a few weeks previous, and he knew that Ron was planning to propose to Hermione tonight—Christmas Eve.

Tonight of all nights, Harry should have been at the Burrow celebrating with his friends; his family. There was something different about tonight, though. All day Harry had felt a sense of brooding, a loneliness he couldn't shake. Even surrounded by people, he had felt himself alone. Feigning a headache, he had brushed off Molly's offers of ginger tea (“It does wonders for the sinuses, dear!�) and insisted all he needed was a quick nap at home, away from the noise. Bill and Fleur were here from Shell Cottage for the holidays, as was Charlie in from Romania, and Percy from London. Andromeda would be arriving soon with baby Teddy. The house was even more full than usual, so Harry's excuse flew without much trouble.

Now he was sitting at home, without even Kreacher for company. The ageing elf was spending the holidays at Hogwarts, since Hermione had pointed out to Harry that he would otherwise be alone over the week Harry was to spend at the Burrow. So Harry had come home to a cold, dark hall. He had lit the fireplace and a few candles and now was simply sitting here in a threadbare, musty armchair, thinking.

The past six months had been the longest of Harry's life, longer even than hunting for Horcruxes or summers at the Dursleys. The dangers of Horcrux hunting had at least kept life a little interesting—at least it seemed so in retrospect—and the Dursleys' had been lonely, but somehow not as lonely as this.

As the days had passed leading up to Christmas, full of merriment and good cheer, Harry had begun to reflect on those who could no longer partake in all of this goodness with them; those who never would again. He knew they had fought willingly, had died for a cause they believed in enough to give their lives for. Still, the unfairness of it all weighed on him. He missed them. He missed them, and he couldn't shake the feeling that if he had somehow done better, done more, been more...he could have saved them.

A small part of Harry's brain told him he was acting like an angsty teenager again. He had a home. He had a family. They had survived a war, an awful war. People died in wars. With that in mind, they hadn't lost so much, had they? And yet, as he stared into the flames, the faces of all those who were lost flashed before him.

Hedwig...Mad-Eye...Snape...Remus...Tonks...Fred...Snape...Dobby...Snape... “Snape?� Harry sat up straighter. Snape's head was sitting in his fireplace. Not so corporeally as even a Floo-message, translucent and cloudy, but clearly visible.

“Don't look so flabbergasted, Potter,� the apparition said, rising effortlessly out of the flames and coming to rest, standing on the hearthrug. “It makes your already ape-like countenance appear positively comatose.�

“W-what?� Harry stammered. “You're dead.�

“I am deceased, yes,� the apparition commented drily. “Deceased and on a schedule. I haven't time to waste on your irritating knack for stating the obvious, Potter.�

“But you're not a ghost,� Harry insisted. “You moved on.�

“Yes, I did. And I've come back tonight, with much reluctance, because as content as I would be to see Dumbledore's golden boy living out his life in gloom and loneliness, much as I di—� here the ghost seemed to catch himself, and began again “—much as you deserve, I am forced to admit that for the good of the wizarding world, which seems rather absurdly fond of you, you'd do well to move on yourself.� Snape regarded Harry with distaste, biting off each word as if it was indeed forced from him against his will.

Harry stared at his ghostly professor in fear and confusion. “You...you died for that world. Snape—Professor...Severus, you gave your life.� Overwhelmed by a sudden gratitude and—he shocked himself to think it—respect for his old teacher, Harry began to extend his hand toward the pearly apparition. Snape eyed the hand with distaste. “You were loyal,� Harry continued. “to Dumbledore, to my mother—�

“That's quite enough sentimental gibberish, Potter,� the ghost snapped suddenly, taking a step back toward the fireplace. His cloak swirled gracefully and noiselessly about his ankles, a far cry from its bat-like flapping of years past. “Time is of the essence. There is much I must show you before the night is through.�

“Show me?� Harry repeated, his hand frozen in midair a few centimeters from Snape's barely extended hand. “Show me what? And why?�

“You'll see what when you see it,� Snape said. “As for why...so that you'll stop wallowing in your idiotic self-pity and consider yourself as lucky as the rest of the world does.�

Snape closed the gap between his hand and Harry's. Their fingers met with a shock of cold and wind. The room blurred around them, and with an unmistakable sense of motion, everything went black.

Harry opened his eyes. Nothing changed. He blinked and tried again. The darkness remained, accompanied by a strangely familiar smell of dust and spiders. Harry reached out his hand, but before he could find the door, it opened of its own accord, and light flowed into the cupboard—his cupboard. Harry stared as a smaller version of himself—perhaps six or seven years old—blinked in the pale yellow light from the hall. Harry tried to touch the hand of his younger counterpart, but older Harry's hand slipped right through as if he himself were a ghost.

Ghost Harry turned to his guide, who was looking around the cupboard with a sneer of disgust. “Why exactly are we here?� Harry inquired, as his younger self shut the door again but for a crack, leaving himself light enough to dress by.

“I am showing you a Christmas from your past, to remind you of happier days, and convince you that you can return to them again, so to speak,� Snape said flatly.

“Some happier days,� Harry snorted. “I was miserable at the Dursleys'. Strike one for you, Snape. Try again, why don't you?�

“Not so fast, Potter,� Snape drawled. “Your memory fails you. Wait and watch.�

Harry frowned. Before he could reply, his smaller self pushed open the door again and crept into the hall, making as little noise as possible. Soundlessly, the ghosts followed.

The hall was lit by shafts of early morning sunlight, dust floating down them to the hardwood floor, cold under the child's bare feet. Through the small window in the front door, the sun was rising. Harry could remember many mornings like this, sneaking out of bed on a Saturday morning while the Dursleys slept late, tip-toeing into the kitchen to steal an apple or a muffin. There was something different about this morning, though; something different about the child's face.

A smile, Harry realized. Young Harry was smiling, his wide eyes glowing in anticipation as he crept, ever so carefully, bypassing the dark kitchen, entering the sitting room. Still creeping, cat-like, he clambered into Uncle Vernon's large armchair and curled up into a ball, thin arms grasping knobbly knees. The child's green eyes reflected the red and white lights of the tree, the gold and silver baubles, the star perched on top. Harry stood in the doorway, staring at the child, who was still staring at the tree.

Beneath the tree, piles upon piles of presents overflowed across the floor and up onto the coffee table. Young Harry made no move to examine them. Older Harry knew there was no need. Only one would bear the child's name, and it would contain a coat hanger, a few tissues, or perhaps a threadbare pair of hand-me-down socks. Still, there was something joyous and peaceful about this silent, solitary moment, something that was almost like a gift.

Harry knew that any moment now, his cousin Dudley would come lumbering down the stairs, waking his parents and clamouring for his presents. Then Harry would be booted into the kitchen to start breakfast while Dudley opened his packages and threw a tantrum because some trinket he desperately needed had been overlooked. Uncle Vernon would rush out to buy the missing toy while Aunt Petunia comforted her sobbing Dudders. Meanwhile, Harry would sneak an orange and a couple of pieces of bacon into a handkerchief in the conveniently large pocket of his ill-fitting trousers, saving them from his cousin's greedy fingers.

After breakfast, Aunt Petunia would shoo Harry out of the kitchen and into his cupboard, throwing his lone present after him to keep him occupied so she could cook Christmas dinner. Aunt Marge would show up around one with one of her horrendous hounds, who would bark ferociously at the door of the cupboard until Aunt Marge held it back long enough for Harry to come out. He would then be forced to sit through an hour and a half of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge's increasingly boisterous conversation, with only his meager portion of Aunt Petunia's mediocre cooking to occupy him. Finally, Dudley would be finished stuffing himself, and they both would be excused. Harry would then hurriedly don his coat and escape outdoors before Dudley became bored with his toys and came looking for his favorite punching bag.

All that, however, was not yet arrived, and for now young Harry was content. For now, he was happy. These stolen moments of solitude, his future self realized, were what kept him sane during those years of neglect and bullying.

“Alone, you were happy.� Harry jumped as Snape spoke from behind him. Harry turned and glared at his old professor, leaving the child to gaze at the lighted tree alone.

“Yeah, some happiness.� Harry scowled. “Anyway, if you're trying to tell me I shouldn't be alone on Christmas, why are you showing me how wonderfully happy I was by myself? What's the point of this?�

“The point,� Snape responded, “Is that it didn't remain this way. Come. We're finished here.� Harry took one more backward glance at the child and the lights before the scene blurred and darkened.

The darkness resolved itself into the Gryffindor Common Room. Harry, still looking very young, was sprawled in front of the fire next to a rather short and extremely freckly Ron Weasley. Between the two boys was a large pile of food, toasted and un-toasted, ranging from muffins to marshmallows to sausage. “If you were going to be trapped in the dungeons for a week,� Ron was saying, in a much more high-pitched voice than Harry remembered, “and could only bring one type of sandwich with you, what would it be?�

“Not sausage-and-marshmallow,� young Harry replied emphatically. “Bleargh.� Older Harry couldn't help but chuckle as his first-year counterpart and his best friend proceeded to have a very serious and drawn-out debate about the relative merits of various types of sandwich when one was trapped in the dungeons.

“But what sort of bread would you put on it?� Harry wondered. “White bread gets too soggy. What if you dropped the sandwich on the floor? It would soak up all sorts of dungeon yuck if it were white bread.�

“That's why you don't drop your sandwich on the floor, genius,� Ron replied in exasperation. “But I suppose you could use pumpernickel bread, just in case. That's sturdy.�

“I don't like pumpernickel bread,� Harry complained. “Can anchovies go on a sandwich, do you think?�

“Anchovies? Gross! I'd rather eat dirt,� Ron exclaimed, pulling a face. Harry scowled and tossed the nearest pillow at him. It missed and instead knocked over a teetering stack of toast. “Now look what you've done, you've got toast crumbs all over the squishiest pillow,� Ron observed, chucking a piece of toast at his friend. An impromptu food-and-pillow-fight ensued, in which much toast was wasted, many marshmallows consumed, and one pillow barely saved from catching fire.

“How touching,� Snape drawled finally, his voice pulling Harry out of the scene by the fireplace and back to the corner of the Common Room where they stood watching. “But I believe we've seen enough. Are you back in your right mind yet, Potter?�

Harry blinked. “Well...Yeah...No, I mean...I know I was happy then, but I was eleven. That was before anything happened, any war, any death...things were different then.�

Snape's lips thinned in a fearsomely accurate impression of Minerva McGonagall. “Very well, Potter,� he said finally. “We go again.�

When the darkness disappeared for the third time, it took Harry a moment to recognize his surroundings. Snow was falling in a small, silent graveyard. It was dark, but yellow light leaked from the doorway of a nearby church, from which the sounds of a choir singing carols could be heard. Harry shivered, though he could not feel the cold.

“Over there,� Snape said, pointing. Harry looked, and saw two strangers; a balding man and a small, mousy-looking woman. Frowning, Harry glanced back at Snape, who raised a thick eyebrow drily, and walked noiselessly toward the couple where they stood over a tombstone.

“It doesn't mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry,� said the woman. Harry gasped in realization and stepped closer to look into the woman's face. Sure enough, although she was a stranger, her wrinkled brow as she looked up at the man held a distinctly Hermione-ish expression. “It means...you know...living beyond death. Living after death.�*

Harry's heart sank for a moment with the same grief he knew his Polyjuiced self was feeling, as the middle-aged man began to cry. Harry's eyes were drawn, though, not to the tears falling to the snow, but to the couple's hands, grasped tightly between them. The woman conjured a wreath and gave it to the man, who placed it on the grave. The man and woman put their arms around each other and began slowly to walk away. Harry remained where he was, watching them and realising that even then, in his darkest hour, there had been those who remained to shine a light.

“Come on, then,� Snape grumbled, gliding over the snow to where Harry stood. “We are on a tight schedule, Potter. That's enough dawdling.�

* DH, Ch 16, p. 328 US hardcover version

Chapter Two

Harry blinked at the sudden brightness. Badly tuned bagpipes blared what were meant to be Christmas carols from the large wooden wireless in the sitting room at the Burrow. George and Charlie were cracking jokes together as they levitated a few last bits of tinsel onto the tree. It was the sort of tree that Ginny said had “character�; tall and somewhat lopsided, its tip bent over against the ceiling, the star hanging upside-down, obviously secured by magic. It was decorated with the usual lights and baubles, but also with all sorts of ornaments the Weasleys had collected over the years. Wooden triangles hand-glued together by Percy and the twins as small boys, blinded the eye with bright color-changing paint; a small sheep with Bill's name sewn on had lost most of its wool; a beautiful glass angel, a christening gift for Ginny, sparkled and reflected the lights.

Percy appeared in the doorway, barely visible above the teetering stack of brightly wrapped packages he carried in his hand. “Andromeda's just arrived,� he explained as Charlie relieved him of the gifts and placed them among the rest overflowing beneath the tree. “Teddy gets bigger every day, I tell you.�

“Babies have a slight tendency to do that,� Bill commented, coming in behind Percy with a heaping platter of biscuits, levitating a tray with several mugs and a teapot in front of him. “Will one of you go get the rest of the mugs from the kitchen? Dad forgot to get any non-alcoholic eggnog, so I'm off to pick some up for Fleur.� He put the trays down on the sideboard, manoeuvring carefully to get past the several card tables that took up most of the floor space—there was no chance of squeezing everyone into the kitchen tonight, and as the back garden was buried under nearly half a metre of snow, eating outdoors would be rather inconvenient.

“I'll go,� said Percy, shoving his glasses up his nose now that his hands were free. Harry followed Percy down the hall toward the kitchen, but paused at the staircase when he heard Ginny's voice.

“Hermione?� Ginny was calling from upstairs. “Where did she disappear to?�

“I wouldn't look too hard if I were you,� said Andromeda from near the front door where she was taking Teddy out of his coat. “I saw her being pulled upstairs by Ronald as I walked in.� She hung her coat and Teddy's on the already-full coat rack by simply tossing them up on top of the other coats until they stayed.

“Oh, well in that case, I had better quit while I'm ahead,� Ginny said, laughing. “They'll turn up eventually.� She tripped lightly down the stairs, slipped on the wet wood on the last one, fell on her bum, and came to rest in front of Andromeda. Teddy laughed and reached for his favorite Weasley. Ginny stood up stiffly, took him from Andromeda's arms and nuzzled his nose with her own. “Hey there, Ted! Happy Christmas!�

Teddy squealed and gurgled, his hair flashing through several bright colours before settling temporarily on green. Ginny carried Teddy through the hall to the kitchen, walking right through a startled but unnoticed Harry, who was too busy watching her to move out of her way. He turned and followed her, watching her...erm, hair, sway as she walked, Teddy's small hand grabbing a hunk of it with chubby fingers.

In the kitchen, Molly and Fleur were hard at work—Fleur cooking, and Molly trying to get her to sit down and rest. “Nonsense, Molly,� Fleur was saying. “I 'ave still several months before zat. Let me 'elp you. Come, I am not yet showing.�

“Let her be, Mum,� Ginny said. “Look who's here!� Fleur returned to supervising the knife chopping the potatoes as Molly cooed over Teddy.

“Oh, I can see so much of your father in you, little Ted,� Molly said softly as Teddy held her hand in both of his, trying to pull off her wedding ring. “But that hair,� she continued with a laugh as the child's hair turned red in frustration. “That came straight from your mummy.� Molly sighed, and her eyes grew misty. She scooped Teddy into her arms and held him close.

“Harry?� Harry jumped as Arthur entered the kitchen, looking around eagerly, holding an old, rusty cigarette lighter in his snow-covered, gloved hand. “Harry, I found this Muggle contraption in the gutter outside, do you know what it is?�

“Harry's not here, dear,� Molly told him, setting Teddy on a chair and returning to stir a pot on the stove, which was beginning to bubble alarmingly. “He felt a bit ill, went to Grimmauld Place to take a nap away from the noise.�

“Did he?� said Arthur in concern. “He'll be back in time for supper, I hope. Speaking of which, how soon until it's ready?�

“Ze sooner you get out of our 'air, ze sooner eet will be ready,� Fleur answered teasingly.

“Why don't you go ask Percy about that contraption, dear?� Molly suggested. “I understand he's been doing a bit of research on Muggle technology lately.�

“Wonderful!� Arthur exclaimed, turning around again.

“Take Teddy with you!� Molly called after him, as she turned from the stove just in time to keep the child from toppling off of his chair onto the floor. “I don't know where Ginny's disappeared to; she was supposed to be watching him.�

Harry looked around in suprise; he had not noticed Ginny leave. Snape was nowhere in sight, so Harry wandered out into the hall and up the staircase. He found Ginny at the top, near the doorway to her bedroom. She was standing on tip-toe, reaching out across the banister to hang a sprig of mistletoe from the ceiling of the front hall. Her hair fell in a long curtain behind her outstretched arm. Harry smiled as she stuck out her tongue in concentration, reaching with both hands to tie the sprig around the ceiling lamp.

Suddenly the rug beneath Ginny's feet slipped. She screamed and lost her balance, nearly toppling over the banister to the floor below. She clung to the outside of the railing for dear life, her feet in the air on upstairs side, her hands and head out over the hall. Harry rushed forward to try to pull her back, but his ghostly hands could not grab hold of her. Luckily, her cry had attracted the attention of the household. Percy was nearest; he dashed up the stairs and pulled her back to the floor while George, Bill and Andromeda gathered below.

Harry backed away so that he was no longer standing inside of Percy, which was somewhat unnerving. Ginny took several deep breaths and let Percy hug her. “All right there, Gin?� he asked, letting her go. “That was a close call.�

“Yeah, I'm okay,� Ginny replied breathlessly.

Ron bolted down the stairs from the floors above, closely followed by Hermione. “Is everything all right? I heard Ginny scream.�

“Everything's fine, I'm fine, go back to what you were doing,� Ginny assured him. “If I haven't quite wrecked the mood, that is.�

Ron glanced at Hermione and reddened; she smiled secretively, as if she guessed his thoughts. “Nah, there'll be time for that later. It's almost supper, isn't it?�

“Oh! I should go and see if they need any help in there,� Hermione exclaimed, sliding past Ron to make her way down the stairs.

“Bit out of proportion, risking your neck for a strategically placed sprig of mistletoe, eh, Ginny?� George called mischievously from the hall below. “Wouldn't have any particular target in mind for that mistletoe, would you?� It was Harry's turn to redden, though no one saw it.

“You mean the mistletoe you're all standing under?� Ginny inquired innocently, grinning down at them.

Bill and George looked around, noticed Andromeda and quickly leapt out of the way. Andromeda lifted her eyebrows and laughed gently. “All right, point taken,� she said. “Now, who had Teddy last? He'll be wanting his supper, and I don't think he'll be content to wait till Molly's finished with her masterpiece.�

“Here he is,� said Charlie, coming into the hall with Teddy tucked under his arm like a Quaffle. Hermione looked appalled and seemed about to rebuke Charlie for his negligence, before she realised that the child was squealing with delight rather than terror. She settled for placing her hands on her hips and pursing her lips in a disapproving manner.

“Are you quite finished here, Potter?� Snape said as Harry sniggered at the scene before him. Harry yelped and whirled around.

“Where did you come from?� he demanded, standing up straight in a failed attempt to cover his discomposure.

“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about,� said the apparition flatly. “I've been at your side this entire time.�

“If you say so,� Harry sighed. “Where to next?�

“Patience, Potter. You shall see.� Snape extended his hand. Harry took it reluctantly, twisting around for one last look at the general merriment before the room blurred and blackened around him once more.

Chapter Three

Harry took in his surroundings with confusion. The long, brightly lit hallway; the curtains on the wall hiding Walburga Black; the troll-foot umbrella stand...“Snape, where are we?� he asked carefully, turning about and staring in all directions.

“Number twelve, Grimmauld Place,� Snape informed him. “You don't recognise your own home? How utterly pathetic.�

“No—I mean yeah, it's just...� Harry hesitated, looking around at the ivy entwined on the chandelier, the tinsel on the stairway banister, the St. Nicholas hats and beards on the elf heads on the wall. “Snape, when are we?�

“HARRYYY!� came a shrill yell from the basement before Snape could respond. Harry sprinted down the hallway, only to crash headlong into—or rather through—himself, coming down from the upper floors.

“Coming, Ginny!� corporeal Harry called, opening the door to the basement and hurrying down the stairs. Ghostly Harry followed incredulously, staring at the back of his own head—was that a strand of grey hair?

Harry and Harry (with Snape alongside) arrived in the kitchen, where a frazzled-looking Ginny was standing over the stove, stirring four pots at once while an egg timer was ringing insistently on the counter. The room was full of steam—at least, Harry hoped it was steam—and a muffled screaming was coming from somewhere nearby. An auburn-haired boy of about eight or nine was leaning casually against a closed door. “Harry, everyone will be arriving any moment. Hermione, Fleur and Angelina will help me get everything finished and on the table, but if it's not nearly ready by time Mum arrives, she'll jump in and help, and I don't want her lifting a finger; not this year.�

“What can I do to help?� older Harry asked, oblivious to his younger self, who was gawking, open-mouthed, at his surroundings. The basement kitchen of Grimmauld Place of nineteen-ninety-eight had at least been cleaner than in previous years, but it was nothing compared to this. The walls were painted with tasteful but cheerful colours. The long wooden table was still there, but draped with a beautiful red-and-gold tablecloth; a tribute to Gryffindor, Harry assumed. The table was surrounded by a motley of wooden chairs; it looked like the celebrations today would include at least as many guests as at the Burrow. A huge tree stood in the corner. Harry laughed. Aside from the star on top, which had plenty of space beneath the cavernous ceiling of the kitchen, this tree was at least as lopsided and full of character as that at the Burrow. Harry recognised Ginny's glass angel, but many of the ornaments were new. Harry saw a camel that seemed to be comprised entirely of various shapes of pasta, glued together and painted gold. A silver cradle bore the inscription, “JSP, March 2005�. The pictures on the wide mantelpiece showed the growth of a quickly burgeoning family—his family, Harry realised with a start.

“You can take these little devils off my hands,� Ginny answered, turning away from the stove long enough to shout, “James! Let your sister out of the boiler room!�

The boy, whose uncontrollably messy hair looked oddly familiar, stepped away from the door. The door flew opened and a red-headed child of five tumbled out, shrieking at the top of her lungs. “Mum!� the little girl exclaimed tearfully, clinging to her mother's robes. “Does Kreacher's ghost really haunt the boiler room and possess people who go in there? Does it?�

“Oh,� older Harry said in slight bemusement. “That explains the screaming.�

Ginny glared. Harry cringed and took charge. “No, of course Kreacher doesn't possess anyone, Lily. Now, James and Lily, come upstairs with me; let's leave your mother in peace. You want dinner to be ready sooner rather than later, don't you?�

“Race ya!� James shouted, sprinting up the stairs, leaving his sister to scramble after him.

“No fair!� Lily wailed from the staircase. “You got a head start!�

“Where's Albus?� older Harry asked his wife.

“Tucked into a nook somewhere, reading, I expect,� Ginny replied tiredly, opening the oven and removing a casserole. She set it on the counter to cool. “If only they could all be that quiet once in a while. But now that they're up there they'll probably find him in whatever corner he's lodged himself, and there'll be a row when they do.�

Her husband crossed the room and embraced her from behind as she turned back to the stove. She gasped involuntarily and smiled as he held her. “Everything's going to be fine, Ginny,� he told her soothingly. “It's only our family and closest friends. Yes, that's an abnormally large number of people, but you're a wonderful cook, and everyone loves you and will make the best of whatever happens. Besides, cooking the entire dinner and hosting at our house this year was your idea.�

“I know,� Ginny murmured with a sigh. “I just want it to be perfect. Like Mum's Christmases always are.�

“And it will be perfect,� Harry replied. “As perfect as a dinner with the Weasley clan ever is.� Ginny turned from the stove long enough to share a kiss with her husband. Harry the observer glanced sideways at his ghostly companion. Snape was watching the scene with unconcealed disgust. Harry glared at him, and was relieved when his married counterpart broke away from his wife. “I had better make sure the little ruffians aren't maiming one another too badly,� he said. As if on cue, a loud thump and a high-pitched shriek of “Albus!� came from upstairs.

“Albus Severus!� Harry shouted. Apparition Harry started and glanced at Snape, who reacted only by a slight look of surprise, which he quickly rearranged into cynical indifference.

“And off we go again,� Snape drawled, reaching for Harry's hand.

“Not yet,� Harry said, pulling away. He wanted to follow his future self up the stairs, watch him parent his children, see the family arrive, see Bill and Fleur's child, Ron and Hermione—did they have children too?

“Yes, yet, Potter, we are on a schedule, with still one more scene to observe,� Snape reminded him, grabbing Harry's hand roughly. Harry sighed as the room disappeared around them once more.

The darkness resolved this time into a dingy bar, quiet and empty. A thin man with lank, unkempt hair—that still managed to stick up oddly despite its grease and general uncleanliness—sat alone at the bar. A tall glass of some amber liquid was in his hand. He sipped it morosely and stared into space. A slow, blues-y Christmas tune fought through waves of static to bleat feebly from a wireless radio perched on a shelf on the back wall. A small, pitiful looking tree stood in the corner. It had no lights, only a few tarnished baubles and a star with one point broken off. The young barman was wiping out grimy glasses with an even grimier rag. The Hog's Head was slightly cleaner than when Harry had seen it last, but it still smelt faintly of goats.

“Still here, Harry?� the bartender inquired of his middle-aged customer. “You haven't anyplace better to be, on Christmas Eve, no less?�

The dark-haired man—another future self, Harry realised with a stab of horror—shook his head listlessly. “No point. No one there. All dead...so many dead.� He sipped his drink once more and set it down on the counter with a loud clunk.

The bartender regarded him grimly and shook his head, muttering to himself. Young Harry caught a few phrases, among them “too far gone� and “waste of potential�. Harry turned and stared at his guide, who was observing the scene with expressionless eyes that revealed nothing of its truth.

The door jingled and a blast of cold air accompanied a blonde, balding man in a green cloak. “I've done it, Willoughby!� he said with a slight hiccup. “I've left my wife!�

“Again, Draco?� the barkeep inquired drily. “I see you stopped at the Three Broomsticks on the way here. Have they kicked you out already?�

“Didn't – hic – much like – hic – my singing,� Malfoy explained haltingly, shaking half a drift of snow off his cloak and hanging it on the rack by the door. “But I'm so – hic – happy to be free, I just have to celebrate!�

“What's to celebrate?� drunken Harry wanted to know. “Everyone's dead. Even Aberforth's dead. Haven't you scrubbed that goat smell out of these floors yet, Pete?� He drained his glass and examined it glumly, wiping a bit of unidentifiable refuse off of the brim with his finger.

“Nonsense, Potter, old buddy, old nemesis, old pal,� Malfoy exclaimed, approaching the bar and clapping Harry on the shoulder vigourously. “No one's dead. Wish my wife was dead. But she's alive. Everyone's alive! Everyone important, anyhow. Alive and free, free as a hippogriff! Hippogriff! GOD REST YE, MERRY HIPPOGRIFFS—come, Potter, you know the tune—�

“Okay, okay, I've seen enough!� young Harry said vehemently, turning and grabbing Snape's hand. “Can we please leave before my ears start bleeding?�

A faint smirk crossed Snape's face fleetingly. “Very well, Potter, if you're quite sure you don't want to stay.� The room blurred into darkness for the last time.

Harry blinked. He was sitting in his armchair at number twelve, Grimmauld Place once again. He frowned at the still flickering fire, trying to get his bearings. Had it all been a dream?

“Still perplexed, Potter?� Harry started and looked around. The translucent Snape was leaning against the wall next to the fireplace, regarding Harry with a mildly contemptuous gaze. “If that entirely clear and lucid revelation hasn't penetrated your abnormally thick skull, I doubt there is anything more I can to do help you.�

“No, I—I think I get it, thanks,� Harry assured him. “Now if you'll excuse me, I really ought to be getting back, wouldn't want to miss supper—�

“Not so fast, Potter,� Snape interjected, stepping closer as Harry reached for his cloak, which he had slung carelessly over the back of his chair. “My work is not yet finished.�

“Isn't it?� Harry asked in confusion. “Weren't you just supposed to make me feel all happy, and want to spend time with my friends and not get drunk with Malfoy and—stuff?�

“I'm supposed to teach you a lesson,� Snape clarified. “And I would not be an effective teacher if I did not test you on what you had learned.�

“A test?� Harry paused with his cloak on sideways. “What sort of test?�

Snape seated himself stiffly on the end of the sofa, gesturing for Harry to sit back in his chair. Harry did so, warily. “Now,� Snape began, drawing a deep breath and speaking through gritted teeth as if each word was being tortured out of him, “is the time when we engage in a frank discussion about...your feelings.�

“Sir?� Harry was perplexed, and somewhat alarmed.

“Your feelings, Potter,� Snape repeated impatiently. “The warm, fuzzy things tumbling about in your stomach right now are more than Molly Weasley's hare stew.�

Harry coloured. He wanted to tell the apparition to mind his own ghostly business, but something told him Snape would not leave until he had completely fulfilled his responsibilities, however distasteful to all concerned. “Fine, then,� he said. Putting the evening's events and their effects on him into words, however, proved to be no easy task. Harry pondered for a long moment, while Snape stared at him stonily.

“Well...I mean...Everyone who died...they died for a reason, didn't they?� Harry began hesitantly. “They died because they didn't want Voldemort's plan for the world to become reality. They had a dream of a better world. They wanted the people they loved to have a better life. If we just sit around feeling depressed about things, it's not really accomplishing what they died for. And then they'd have died in vain. So...I guess the best way to honor them is to live, in that world they died to preserve...isn't it?�

“Not bad, Potter,� Snape said drily. “You've managed to summarise a plethora of epiphanies in just a few pithy sentences.�

“You're the one who put me on the spot,� Harry grumbled. “I know I can't do justice to it. But...believe me, I saw what you were showing me.�

“I should hope so,� Snape remarked, “Or I should be forced to invent a new degree of stupidity specifically for the purpose of applying it to you.�

“Are we done here?� Harry asked in annoyance.

“Quite,� said Snape, standing up.

Suddenly, something occurred to Harry. “Wait!� he exclaimed.

Snape paused. “What is it now, Potter?� he demanded irritably.

Harry hesitated. “Why did you come here?� he asked quietly. “I mean, judging from experience, I wouldn't think you would much care if I wasted my life, or my potential, or whatever.�

Snape was silent for a long moment. “I was asked to come,� he said finally.

“By who?� Harry pressed. “And why didn't they just come themselves?�

“She seemed to think it would...benefit me, in some way, coming back for a time; seeing what my...sacrifice accomplished.� Snape said slowly. “Of course, not having spent time with you for the past seventeen years, she was unaware of just how insufferable your presence is, regardless of the potential benefit,� he finished flatly.

“Right,� Harry answered. He considered pressing the point further, but thought better of it. The man was dead, for Merlin's sake. Maybe it was time to let his demons rest. Harry looked his old professor in the eye and forced a smile; it came more easily than he expected. “Happy Christmas, Severus.�

The ghost held his gaze until Harry's eyes began to water. He blinked—and found himself alone.