Allhallowtide by Dream Painter
Past Featured StorySummary: Halloween approaches and this year the Veil will be its thinnest, yet, allowing those who did not become ghosts the opportunity to interact with the living. Not all spirits are benign, however – and not all wards are fail-proof.
Categories: Fic Fests > #19 Halloween 2015, Teacher Snape > Professor Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Tobias Snape
Snape Flavour: Snape is Desperate
Genres: Horror, Supernatural
Media Type: None
Tags: Alternate Universe, Hospitalization
Takes Place: 4th Year
Warnings: Abusive Dursleys, Character Death, Violence
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 7 Completed: Yes Word count: 13977 Read: 22835 Published: 31 Oct 2015 Updated: 31 Oct 2015
Chapter 1 by Dream Painter

0o0

Halloween fell on a Monday that year. As the trio made their way into the great hall for breakfast that morning, Neville and Ginny accompanying them, Hermione was in full lecture mode. “Allhallowtide,” she was saying, “refers to the three days between October 31st and November 2nd, which are called All Hallow's Eve, All Saints' Day, and-”

“Yeah, yeah, we know, Mione,” Ron interrupted with a faint whine. “Three days that make up a tri-um-something and Halloween was originally Samhain. We know. You went on about all this last year.”

“Triduum,” the bushy-haired girl corrected blandly, shooting the redhead a reproving glare.

“But there's something different about it this year, right?” Harry spoke up, trying to maintain the peace. “About the Veil?”

Neville had started nodding. “The Veil is always thinner on Halloween. So people who died that didn't become ghosts are able to come back during that time,” the brown-haired boy spoke softly.

“Most never do, though,” Ginny contributed. “Mum always said that even when the Veil thins, only those with really strong motives make it through.”

“Right, but this year the Veil is going to be its thinnest yet,” Hermione continued, getting back into the discussion. “Which means spirits will be out this year who couldn't make it through in previous years. Starting next year, the Veil will be a bit thicker again, so it'll be the last opportunity in a while for some.”

“Bill says there's some spirits who've been trying to make it through for years – like really violent ones who're out for revenge and have just gotten angrier every time they failed to get through. I think he was just trying to scare me, though,” said Ron, casting a furtive look around at the decorations which were already making an appearance in preparation for the evening's feast.

“M-my gran always puts out fruits and sweets and stuff, and great Uncle Algie lights a bonfire in the yard, just in case,” Neville said a bit nervously.

“It's not just bad spirits that come through, though, right?” Harry asked, feeling a bit alarmed. While it was true they had talked about this in previous years, it hadn't been as big a thing as it seemed to be this year.

Ginny laid a comforting hand on his arm. “Of course not, Harry,” she reassured.

“And in any case, Hogwarts is warded against any truly malevolent spirits entering the grounds,” added Hermione. “Has been since 1798 after a – w-well, as a precaution.” The girl stammered a bit, belatedly realizing that informing her friends that a staff member had been nearly killed by an angry spirit at that time probably wasn't the best means to reassure any of them.

The group of friends were seated, each helping themselves to the platters of food as they continued talking. “So, we can expect to see more ghosts than usual tonight?” Harry questioned, spreading jam on a piece of toast. “I don't remember seeing anyone new, last year.”

“I did a couple years ago, down by the greenhouses,” offered Neville.

“And there was a spirit who came through to talk to someone in the library last year,” added Hermione. “But you're oversimplifying it. They're not really ghosts, not in the way Nearly Headless Nick or Moaning Myrtle are, anyway. Ghosts can't really interact with anything much, except on occasion. The spirits who come through on Samhain, however, are a bit more like poltergeists, in that they can move solid objects and even touch people.”

“They're also supposed to have a greater effect on their surroundings. Like, with ghosts, you have to be nearly on top of them to feel a drop in temperature, but with a spirit that's come through the Veil, I've heard they can make a whole room several degrees colder,” Ginny contributed.

Ron hurried to swallow the bite he was chewing. “They don't always make it colder,” he said. “Charlie said there was a spirit at the reserve one year who'd been burned to death by one of the dragons that made the area around him warmer when he appeared. And he smelled like char and burned flesh.” He made a bit of a face at this, hesitating before taking another bite.

“The stronger the spirit, the greater the impact it has on its surroundings,” Hermione concluded. “I've read that angry spirits tend to be surrounded by more phenomena, though.” Harry chewed thoughtfully on his toast, taking in this new information. It seemed that there was a lot more to the afterlife than he'd suspected.

The topic shifted to other things as they continued on with their meal. A general hum of conversation spread throughout the room as more and more students gathered at the house tables to fill their stomachs.

Harry was just helping himself to a second serving of bangers and mash when movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention to the head table. Trelawney had risen from her seat, as though drawn up like a puppet by its strings. Even from halfway down the Gryffindor table, the teen could tell that the woman's gaze was unfocused. Before he could start to wonder what was going on, the woman drew a loud rasping gasp that sent shivers along Harry's spine as it conjured to mind that moment in the Divination classroom the year before. The staff began to roll their eyes, McGonagall turning to mutter something sarcastic to the professor beside her.

They approach,” Trelawney declared in a harsh voice that differed greatly from the wispy tones she favored.

“As night falls, they shall arise,

One by one,

To tread where they should not be.

Hearts black, fingers cold,

Across the Veil

They shall freely walk,

Promising hurt and violence,

Death,

And they send ahead this message:

'Is that any way to talk to yer daddy, boy?'”

Beside her, Snape suddenly froze, head shooting up as his fork slipped from nerveless fingers. What had that infernal woman just spouted?!

Harry fought back a shudder, even as he wondered at the strange expression that had crossed the Potions professor's face. The general hubbub of the great hall intensified as Trelawney sank bonelessly into her seat. Some of the students were unnerved – Harry certainly was. What was more unsettling, however, was that some of the staff seemed discomfited, too.

“What a fraud,” Hermione declared, shaking her head and scoffing. Harry stared down at his food, suddenly not hungry anymore. Merlin, he hoped Hermione was right.

0o0o0

It seemed to Harry that the Potions professor was always a bit crankier on Mondays than any other day of the week. Granted, it could have just seemed that way because he usually had little contact with the man over the weekends. Lately, however, Snape had been even worse than usual, as though he hadn't been sleeping well. If Snape actually slept, that is. The jury was still out on that one.

Whatever the case, the Potions Master had reached a level of tractability that Harry had never before seen that morning. The absurd thought that perhaps Trelawney's little episode at breakfast had set the man on edge flitted across the boy's mind before being summarily dismissed. As if anything could rattle the man. Harry was willing to bet that nightmares were afraid of having Snape – an idea that nearly made him laugh aloud.

Harry certainly didn't feel like laughing a moment later, however, when he accidentally added too much armadillo bile to his potion. He watched as the pale orange brew become a violent shade of purple with dismay. Quickly, he reached for something to counteract the bile's acidity, but he wasn't fast enough.

“Does it not read two drops of armadillo bile on the board, Mr. Potter?” Snape questioned silkily, sneering down at his assignment.

“It does, sir,” Harry answered a bit wearily, “but my hand slipped. I was just going to add-”

“Perhaps, beginning again will remind you to be more careful,” the man cut in. “Evanesco.

His friends shot him sympathetic looks as Snape moved away. Glaring at the man's back, Harry ground his teeth together. He cut the flames under his empty cauldron and stalked to the supply cupboard. Evil, loathsome, petty old bat, the boy thought darkly as he gathered together the necessary ingredients again.

Were Severus inclined to allow his emotions to show on his face, one of his students may have noticed the twinge of regret he felt over his admittedly spiteful actions. After all, Potter had reached for the right ingredient to counteract the excess bile in his potion. Now, he would scarcely have time enough to get the potion done, which, in the long run, would mean more work for himself.

Snape suppressed a sigh. Perhaps if the boy did an adequate job, he would let him off from the usual detention he would assign for unfinished potions.

Greasy, beak-nosed, ill-tempered, the litany continued in Harry's head, no good, slimy... The boy's hand had wrapped around a jar to pull it from its shelf. Before he could safely transfer it to the counter, a face suddenly appeared in the glass.

Snape!” a voice rasped.

Harry started, immediately releasing the jar, which then smashed to the floor. Wide-eyed, the boy turned quickly, searching for the strange face in the surrounding containers.

“Potter!” Snape hissed angrily as he arrived in the doorway, startling the teen again.

“Professor, there was-” Harry began.

“Did I not just finish chastising you for your carelessness a couple minutes ago?” the professor growled. “Detention, Potter! Tonight, six-o'clock! We'll see if missing the feast will put a thought in your head about exercising a little care.”

“But, sir, there was a – a face in the glass!” the Gryffindor protested. “I think it was a ghost.”

“Nice try, Potter, but the ghosts in the castle are very cognizant of the fact that they are not permitted in my classroom at any time, least of all during lessons. Now, go collect your belongings and leave. I don't wish to see you again before tonight.”

“Professor, you don't understand! It said-”

Snape flung an arm towards the door of the classroom. “Get out!” he gritted irritably. “Before I elect to take house points, as well!”

Frustrated at the man's refusal to listen to him, Harry stepped over the glass and spilled beetle carapaces and hurried to the table he'd been sharing with Ron. Shoving his things hurriedly into his bag, he rushed from the classroom before Snape could make good on his threat.

The students had been looking on with varying degrees of interest, but when Snape shot a glare across the room, they quickly returned to their work. Bloody Gryffindors, the man thought darkly, always some preposterous prank. As if Sybil spouting her nonsense isn't bad enough... I hate this holiday.

0o0o0

Severus Snape stepped into the hospital wing, carrying the latest batch of potions Madam Pomfrey had requested for her stock. He did not plan to remain for any length of time, intent upon getting some grading completed before his free period was over. The mediwitch had other ideas, however, for she came out from her office when she saw him pass.

“Thank you, Severus,” the woman told him graciously, awarding him a small smile.

“It is not a problem,” Snape returned, tilting his head in acknowledgment. He continued towards the doors, only to be staid by her hand on his arm.

“How are your nightmares, Severus?” she queried in concern. “Have you been able to get any rest?”

The man hesitated a brief moment. “A bit,” he prevaricated. The truth of the matter was that he had spent the greater part of a month either dreaming about the night his father died or dreading that he would. Thoughts of Tobias Snape in general were simply not conducive to peace of mind. Were it not for the fact that muggles could not become ghosts, Severus would have been half-certain the man still haunted him, at times.

Even so, the Potions Master would not have confessed to his nightmares, even to Poppy, had the woman not threatened to subject him to a hospital stay when she noticed he was not quite well. Sometimes, he regretted that the matron knew him so well.

Case in point, she was now peering at him reprovingly, the look making him feel a bit like an errant schoolboy. “Your nightmares must be rather severe if even dreamless sleep is not helping you, at all,” the woman ventured.

“I have not taken any,” Snape admitted, adding at her frown, “You are well aware that I loathe how lethargic it makes me feel the next day.”

“I am aware, Severus,” Poppy agreed. “Nevertheless, you still need your rest, lest you make yourself ill.”

The man sighed. “Tomorrow. After I have completed my duties for the night. You know this evening is not an option,” he compromised.

“Very well. Just be sure you follow through,” the woman relented.

Snape gave a faint smirk. “Yes, Madam,” he said a bit too contritely, with that note of singsong that students always seemed to adopt unconsciously. She gave him an admonishing frown and Severus nearly gave a smile. As inconvenient as it could be that the woman knew him so well, he was always rather contented by this fact, also.

Turning once more for the exit, he paused to find a thin trail of water leading a few feet in from the door. He lifted his head to look at the ceiling, not that the fine weather outside could possibly account for a nonexistent leak. There was nothing, and frowning a bit, he waved his wand to vanish the mess away.

Neither he nor the mediwitch noticed that the shadows at the corners of the ward seemed to curl after him as he swept from the room.

0o0

The End.


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