-PART ONE-

Christmas. The smell of mince pies, the singing of carols and the taste of snow. That’s how it should be in a picturesque Muggle town in the mountains of North Wales, where the residents hung natural holly wreaths and fed the birds with the stuffing from the turkey. Katherine had certainly been up for it, trekking across the hills to gather holly and mistletoe and have to go much further than expected because no one had told her that the high hills of the slate district were bare and harsh with no woodland and she’d have to find a valley to gather her natural Christmas decorations. She’d invited the muggles round to the village hall to sample her sloe berry wine made in Autumn and she’d baked cakes and puddings until her hands were splotched with red after they’d reacted from to much baking powder. He house was covered in fairy lights of all colours, real icicles hung from the eaves and it looked like a little house from a story by the time she was done, with a grey slate roof and walls of cobblestone, unlike the brick of the other town houses that brought the tone to look a little more modern day. But Katherine, in all her innocence, did not realise the mood of the townspeople she had recently acquainted herself with. They disliked newcomers and were set against all who broke the cold and stony ‘peace’ of the village. Because poor Catherine unwittingly did just that.

So they did their best to make her feel unwelcome. Nobody turned up to taste her wine, the Christmas cake stall was left untouched, and her fairy lights were frowned upon by every passer by. And that was why, by Christmas Eve, Catherine was sitting there in her attic, alone and blue as the wind whirled around the cottage.

She was a good-natured person, kind and willing to give everyone a chance. A magical Historian staying in the town for the festive season only to research her appointed task, she had tried to throw herself into the celebration so she could talk to the muggles of the town about the old house over in the next valley. But now her chance had passed. Only one person in the town had exchanged a civil conversation with her, and though she smiled as she remembered, it hadn’t been enough. He hadn’t answered her questions and had been uncomfortable after a while; standing outside the town shop and watching the display of Christmas puddings slowly go round in the window. Her mind drifted back to the scene and she sighed again.

“Hello there! I saw you were staying for a month. Is everything alright in that cottage?” She had turned round to see a young man, tall and handsome with a smiling mouth and eyes, and had involuntarily smiled herself.

“Yes, yes, everything is lovely. It’s very snug and cosy.” Was her genuinely pleased answer. He had gained a more curious look after this, however.

“And tell me, have you been down in the cellar yet?” He queried, watching her with a stiff smile.

She had noticed nothing about his strange behaviour. “Not yet – I haven’t had time. It seems a little spooky as well.” She had chuckled politely at this, as had he.

“Yes, some would say. It’s one of our oldest cottages around here. A miner’s place, it was.”

“Really? How old would you estimate it to be?” Catherine was deeply interested in Muggle history too, and glad of an intelligent conversation.

“Oh, built in about 1850, I believe.” He had answered. “I should remember the exact date, being the town historian, but I’m afraid I have an awful memory.”

Catherine had smiled both with curiosity and interest. “Oh, so you’re the town historian? How interesting! Do you know a lot about the village, then?”

“A fair bit.” He had shrugged and smiled. “The village is quiet a famous place of mystery, though you wouldn’t guess. I have information on the surrounding area as well.”

Catherin had pounced on this. “You wouldn’t be able to give me a bit of information about the buildings in these hills would you? I’m actually a historian myself and would love to know more.”

He had looked surprised but cordially answered. “Of course! What would you like to know about?”

Katherine had smiled politely again, standing closer. “Well, you wouldn’t know anything about the old hall in Willow Clough*, would you? It’s just-“

She had broken off when his smile had slowly drained away and his face pale. “Sorry – have I done something to offend you?”

“Not at all.” Had been his stiff answer. “But I am – er – afraid that I do not have information on Falkstone Hall.” He had smiled stiffly, but she had sensed his lie.

“Oh, erm, I’m sorry.” She apologised, though both curious and annoyed inside. There had been a pause as both of them stared at the revolving plate of Christmas puddings in the window before she spoke again.

“Well, I’d better go.” Her sigh had noticeable and embarrassment had registered on his face. “Maybe I’ll see you another time, mister….”

“Stone.” He answered, his face the very resemblance of his reply. “Goodbye.” And without even asking her name, he had turned and gone.

Katherine sighed again. She hadn’t seen him after that and had got nothing more on the old hall she was meant to be investigating. But that night, she knew, everything was going to change.

At ten ‘o’clock, Kathy was not wrapping presents or watching Muggle television. She was not lamenting her failure in gaining information or sniffing about the way her Christmas tree held no presents beneath it. No, Kathy was walking across a dark more, wand held aloft and glowing a comforting yellow. 

Because that night, she had to be at Falkestone hall for twelve o’clock, the time when something regarding it’s lost history was meant to happen. She was meant to be discovering why the mystery of the hall had never been solved.

Katherine had been chosen to go alone for only one reason. Kathy was also a physic, strongly connecting with the world of the afterlife. She could speak to any ghost and even see poltergeists. And even more than that, she had a certain understanding with them. She could feel when one was near, she could hear everything it ever spoke, she could even touch them. But Kathy also had to be alone to feel this way. So many people, when she was younger, had thought her crazy. Even then, many presumed her mad. She herself wasn’t even sure. Something about Katherine Parker was not right. But that something was also brilliant.

It was a long walk over the hillside as Kathy battled the wind and braved the steep, slippery snowfields. It grew colder as she reached the top, but she was distracted from her discomfort as she gazed over the hill and saw the eerie, ominous shape of the hall that was bordered by a dark forest. She stared at it for a long time, trying to feel if there was anything around her. But she wasn’t close enough yet.

Going down the hill was even harder, trying not to slip on the rough path coated in ice. As Katherine neared the valley floor, she had trouble concentrating on the path and her mind as a strange feeling began to bloom in her chest. She was beginning to feel unrest of spirits. A heavy, claustrophobic tension in her body. And she hadn’t even reached the hall yet. 

Kathy stopped when she reached the base of the hill, finding herself on thick grass and in a remote, deserted slip of a valley. There was no track, only bare ground until a forest suddenly seemed to spring up from nowhere, and then a broken, cracked wall and ornamental gate that barely stood. The school had been built in the late 1840s, and opened roughly three years after, accepting many local pupils. However, after ten months of running, the whole school suddenly went quiet. Investigators were sent, but they could not enter the hall. No one could enter the hall. Unless, it had been said, they could contact the inhabitants within. 

And that’s why Kathy was their only hope.

The Clough, a brook that wound it’s way through the valley, glistened to silvery it looked like a road in the dark. And as she neared, it looked like a road. Slowly, she crossed a rickety bridge and walked calmly towards the crumbling gate. Unlike most people, Katherine was not scared of the dark, or the sites of hauntings. Katherine on the whole was unlike most people. When she was younger, she had apparently suffered severe memory loss, being found at the age of thirteen on a road in Cheshire, not knowing who she was or what she was doing there. After that, Kathy had been adopted, given a name, Parker, after the road on which she’d bee found, and Katherine, just for the sake of it. She’d then been schooled at home by magical councillors and adopted by parents who complained about her abilities to see the dead. She’d gone to Hogwarts after that and studied as a Historian. One thing Katherine Parker never did was look back.

And as she walked through the eerie forest, Kathy did not look back. In fact, as she came out of the woodland, she most definitely looked forward. Because the once dark and eerie building was shedding a warm glow from each and every window.

Slowly, Katherine ascended the steps up to the entrance. Slowly, she listened to the noise – the noise of a party. Slowly, she reached her hand up to knock on the great wooden door. 

The door swung open and Katherine stepped forward, intrigued and confused. But despite the noise, she saw no one. No one except the figure of a man standing to face the fire in the room ahead of her. He was tall and looked oddly familiar. Walking forward, she braced herself to contact the ghost. 

But, of course, it wasn’t a ghost.

The man turned abruptly as she neared and Katherine gasped in shock. Of course she knew this man.

It was Stone.