The Sugar Quill
Author: jynx67  Story: The Ghosts of Christmas Past  Chapter: Prologue
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Two days before Christmas in 1997, everyone staying at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place will remember a day long past

A/N: This story is set during the Christmas of 1997, post-HBP. However, there is quite a little twist to the chapters. It was written (most of it) during the week before Christmas. I couldn't quite finish it before Christmas, but did recently. I hope you enjoy.




The Ghosts of Christmas Past

by jynx67






It was the night before Christmas Eve and a light snow was falling down on Grimmauld Place in London, England. It created a white blanket on the dreary little neighborhood. One house, number twelve, could not be seen by Muggle eyes, yet it also looked quite dilapidated and was covered in snow. The windows were grimy and the dark front door had a gruesome silver knocker shaped like a coiled snake. The house rose several stories above the ground coming to several pointed, steep slanted roofs.


There was a figure sitting upon the highest point, legs draped down either side, swinging away in a child-like manner. Upon a closer look, the person seemed to be a small girl. She was wearing very little, but seemed oblivious to the cold. Her cheeks were rosy and long, golden curls fell over her slight shoulders. A bright smile covered her face. She looked down at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, concentrating on one spot. It looked as if she were looking into the house.


In fact, she was. The house had been abandoned for many years until just recently. For the past three years, it had been used as the headquarters for a group of Witches and Wizards who had come together to vanquish an evil force that had returned to their world. Currently there were thirteen people staying there. They ranged in ages from late teens to late forties. While most of the other residents of Grimmauld Place were dreaming of sugarplums, these people had less happy dreams.


Christmas is a time to be with family. Most of the residents of number twelve, the red haired ones, were family, yet they accepted the others as if they were relations. Some of the others had family, yet chose to be here. The rest had none, no relatives at all, at least none that they would claim. They had nowhere else to go. But thankfully, they were welcomed into this home.


The girl's head cocked to the side as she looked into their dreams. They were dark and menacing. None of them seemed happy. Oh wait, she had to take that back. The two who looked alike were having an amusing dream, but those two were special. The rest dreamed of people who had died, a skull and snake mark in the sky, traitors and dark cloaked hooded figures. They were all restless, unable to sleep peacefully.


Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small silver bag. She dipped her fingers into the pouch and pulled out a pinch of something that sparkled. She began to sprinkle it over the roof, covering the snow and making it glisten brightly. A mischievous grin covered her face. These people were good. They deserved happiness amongst all this darkness and she was the one to give it to them.


Once the roof was completely covered, she leapt up to the chimney. Closing her eyes, she waved her hands and muttered something in a language long dead. There was a flash of light and all became silent.




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