A/N: This is obviously AU, just by the premise, but this takes place in world where Voldemort died for good after he tried to kill Harry and everyone knew about Snape's true loyalty and his friendship with Lily. PS. clearly, I don't own Harry Potter or A Christmas Carol

The Bloody Barron's Warning

Neville Longbottom hunched over his desk, furiously writing Potions notes. The dungeon was cold, so cold that his breath rose up in an icy mist. The fingers holding his quill were numb. But he had to stay for rudimentary Potions; otherwise he would fail the class. His grandmother made it very clear that he wasn't allowed to fail.

Snape leaned over Neville's shoulder, reading his work. "Write neater," Snape instructed coldly.

Neville straightened his quill and began to write slower, working carefully to insure that each letter was perfect.

"No, no, you stupid boy! Asphodel has no 'f' in it. It is a 'p-h!'"

Neville quickly got out his wand and tried to clear the misspelled word away. All he succeeded in doing was lighting his parchment on fire.

Cursing, Snape raised his wand to put the fire out. "Are you trying to fail? Or do you and your friends have a bet to see which of you can drive me into cardiac arrest first? BECAUSE LET ME TELL YOU, LONGBOTTOM-YOU'RE WINNING!"

"No, sir!" Neville insisted, wringing his hands. "I'm trying so hard, I swear. I-I n-need to pass your class, Pro-Professor. My gran—"

"I don't believe you. I don't think anyone could unintentionally be this dim-witted."

Before Neville could respond, the door to the potions classroom swung open, revealing a grinning Harry Potter.

"Hullo, Professor!"

"What is it, Potter?" Snape spat.

Harry gave a friendly wave in Neville's direction before turning his attention to Snape. "I was wondering if you wanted to come to Christmas dinner tomorrow evening. Sirius invited everyone. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Remus, the Weasleys—"

"For the last six years, Potter, you have invited me to your house for Christmas dinner, what on earth makes you think I'll accept this year?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you'd finally like to get out of this drafty castle for a bit? Have a nice Christmas dinner with lots of merriment and cheer?"

Snape scoffed. "Bah!"

Harry shrugged. "Okay. Suit yourself. You're welcome if you change your mind, you know." He turned to Neville. "So, what's in store for your Christmas? Seeing your parents at Saint Mungo's?"

Neville nodded. "Yes. Then in the evening Great Uncle Algie and Great Auntie Enid are coming over for tea."

"How's your mum doing? Is she any better?" Harry asked kindly.

Neville shook his head. "No, but she hasn't gotten worse, so I guess that's a good sign."

"You know, Sirius and I were thinking of having a party on New Year's Eve; we'd love to see you there." Harry turned to Snape. "You can come, too, Prof—"

Snape lost his patients. "Enough! Potter, you are wasting Mister Longbottom's time. If you keep distracting him from his work, he doesn't have a prayer of passing his Potions class."

Neville jumped and nearly overturned his ink bottle in his hurry to continue writing.

Harry threw up his hands in defeat and backed out of Snape's classroom.

Neville went on to study for another twenty minutes then frantically began trying to create one of the potions from Snape's list. He worked as quickly as he could until Snape finally called for him to bring his work forward. With a shaking hand, Neville handed him his notes and a sample of the potion he had been brewing.

Snape glanced at the notes, disgusted, and examined the contents of Neville's cauldron.

"Pitiful. Thinner than water and more pink than magenta."

"Professor, I tried but—"

"GET OUT!" bellowed Snape. "I'll see you on the twenty-sixth and we will discuss whether your current grade is a 'Dreadful' or a 'Poor.'"

Neville grabbed his backpack and ran out of the room, knocking over a few empty glass jars as he went.

Sighing, Snape waved his wand and the glasses repaired and set themselves back down on the shelf. He extinguished the fire from underneath the cauldron and cast a few scouring charms to clean it.

Once everything was back in order, he turned toward the door.

He was surprised to see that his path was blocked by a tall, blood stained ghost, wrapped in heavy chains.

"Good evening, Baron," Snape told him politely. "What brings you down here?"

"I have come to warn you, Severus," the Baron whispered ominously. "I have heard rumors concerning you. It is said that three spirits will be visiting you, tomorrow, in the earliest hours of Christmas morning. You can expect the first one at midnight precisely."

"Well, if he calls upon me at that indecent hour, I sure hope he does not expect a friendly reception," Snape sneered.

"This is no laughing matter, Severus," the Baron scolded. "These are no ordinary spirits. They are not the simple ghosts of those who chose to cling to this earth once their soul departs from their bodies. They are—"

"I have had enough," snarled Snape. He walked straight through the Bloody Baron and stalked down the dark corridor to his bed room.

He slammed the door shut and got ready for bed, trying to ignore the loud clanging from the bell tower that announced it was eleven at night.