Creation

Last Christmas

This chapter is an entry for A Christmas Carol held by Fanfic.

—Excerpt from an unrevealed journal under the initials of S. B. Found in the house-elf Kreacher's stack of belongings. Dated 25 December 1995.

This is my second—and hopefully, not the last—Christmas being surrounded by those I consider as a family after Prongs'. Though their visit occurred on the most unfortunate circumstance—when Arthur Weasley was found severely injured after Nagini's attack.

Bless the Blacks—12 Grimmauld Place isn't that far from St. Mungo, where he's recovering at. But curse the Blacks too—the Weasleys, my godson, and his woman colleague left me rotten near the hearth when it's Christmas Eve.

I swear I'll kill Wormtail for throwing dirt on my name and banning me from stepping out of the door.

However, I had the most unusual encounter less than an hour later, when my eyes have gone starry at watching the hearth for too long without blinking.

There was a strong scent of cinnamon, swirling white powders, and a distant woman's hums. It was as if someone baited me with Andromeda's experimental Christmas cookies.

I raised my wand at the ready, though shakily. The alcohol's effects were holding me back.

A stout woman appeared, spinning on her toes while giggling in a merry tune. She looked at me wide-eyed when my wand's tip touched her rosy cheeks.

"Who are you?" I asked. "What are you doing here? Hush!"

"But I just stopped by!" Her plump cheeks thinned as she pouted, and she also had a wand of her own, striped in red-and-white. "It's unkind of you to hush me away."

"Did you just Apparate? From where? Who sent you here?"

"I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past. And I'm here representing the joys of Christmas!" She beamed. "I must take you for a ride."

She couldn't be a joke item from Zonko. Unlikely a Death Eater as well. But her unexpected entrance had remained a mystery.

Nevertheless, I didn't object. She brought the joy of Christmas, after all. What could've possibly gone wrong?

"I'll take you to your past. The time-switch will feel funny, but—"

"Just do it. Humor me, er, ghost." She was see-through, only her outfit and attributes were colorful. "Though there's nothing remarkable of my past."

She nodded. Her smile stretched to her humble eyes.

The dropped powders swirled to life at her incantation, and as she grabbed my unwashed hand by force, we entered a dimension where we were pulled backward, farther from the interiors. An unseen force bounced on my middle. Our surroundings waned at an increased pace, and I closed my eyes as my hair blocked my face from sight.

It was a gentler transport than Apparate.

Soon, my shoeless toes collided with something firm and sturdy. I smelled more cinnamon wafting from the wooden table on my left—from a large platter with white cookies. Crowding around it were dishes of all kinds as if a feast was being held.

"Boys, lunch's ready!" A bun-haired woman said, her voice quivering, equivalent with her age. I clutched my chest, calming down the hurtling pang.

"You're early, Euphemia." A bald man in his sixties shambled by, his spirit contrasting his hair color.

Euphemia and Fleamont Potter. Two years prior to their deaths.

"Well, what can I do? It's Christmas, and I can't wait to start our feast!" Her smile radiated the whole room, which had been decorated with Christmas ornaments. "I hope the boys share my excitement too. Boys—"