London, 12 Grimmauld Place.
Evening was approaching. The feeble yellow glow cast by two rows of streetlamps standing in the autumn wind illuminated the desolation of the square.
A young couple walked down the road from the Underground toward the square, arms linked. After a full day of work, both looked exhausted.
"This damn place—"
At the end of the road, which had been repaved after a gas explosion, lay Grimmauld Place.
The moment he stepped into the circular square, the bitter wind settled there made the Muggle man shudder. Tugging at his scarf with one hand, he drew in a cold breath and sighed,
"It's really bleak!"
"That's exactly why we picked this place, isn't it, darling—"
said the round-faced girl with freckles scattered across her cheeks, hunching her neck.
"The rent is cheap enough—"
"That much is true, but if I had the choice again, I wouldn't rent here. Damn landlord, hiding things from us like that."
The boy narrowed his eyes against another fierce gust and stamped his feet, trying to drive away the bone-deep chill that seeped in everywhere.
Apparently finding his complaints adorable, the girl giggled and lightly pecked his cheek.
"Don't be silly, darling. There are no ghosts in this world, I guarantee it. Our neighbors must be playing a trick on you—"
"The neighbors—that's exactly what I was going to say—"
The boy frowned, staring at the shared wall between their rented house and the neighboring one.
"Don't you find it strange, Aiya? We live at number 13, Mrs. Mance lives at number 11, so what about number 12? There should be a number 12, shouldn't there?"
The girl shrugged, clearly finding the question unimportant.
"Maybe whoever built these houses didn't like that number."
"Don't be silly, Aiya—"
The boy's eyes narrowed to