From a writer who doesn't celebrate Christmas, here is a very Christmas-y fic that I hope will give you warm fuzzy feelings. It draws from both the book and the play, and I also take a few historical liberties. Some of the Christmas customs here actually weren't widely practiced in France at the time (decorating a tree, for example).

This can be considered a sequel to my one-shot Generations, since Marius and Cosette have the same children here as they did in that story, but it can be read independently, too.

For my own reference: 99th fanfiction, 23rd story for Les Miserables.

Angelique dragged her feet as she walked home behind her father and siblings. It was Christmas Eve, and they were coming back from church. Her papa was walking just ahead of her, holding hands with her little brother Ultime, who was five, and carrying her little sister Madeleine, who was four, on his hip. Her mama couldn't come to church with them; she was at home, lying in bed, where she'd been for the past week.

It was Christmas Eve, but it didn't feel like Christmas at all. It was the saddest, gloomiest Christmas that Angelique had ever known. Her mama was supposed to be having a new baby. For the last several months, Angelique had watched Mama's stomach grow bigger, and helped her prepare the nursery, and imagined what it would be like having a new baby brother or sister. Mama and Papa had settled on names — Georges for a boy, and Joséphine for a girl — and their whole house had been bustling with excitement and plans and hopes for the future.

The new baby wasn't supposed to come until January, but something had gone wrong, and instead, the baby — it was a boy, Baby Georges — had been born just last week... and he'd died almost immediately. That had been the very worst, most terrifying day of Angelique's life. It frightened her to even remember it now. She'd been sitting in the parlor, writing a letter to Père Noël at the North Pole, telling him what she wanted for Christmas, when she suddenly heard Mama scream. It was the most terrible sound, loud and full of pain, and Angelique had run upstairs to Mama and Papa's room, to see what was wrong, but in the hallway outside their room, she'd found Papa and their maid, talking in hushed voices.

"...already put a kettle of water on to boil, Monsieur," Toussaint was saying. "Shall I go for a doctor?"

"No, I've already sent for one," Papa answered. He was wide-eyed and white as a sheet, which only frightened Angelique more. "But I think I'd better send for a priest, too. I'm afraid that—"

He stopped short when he saw Angelique. She desperately wanted him to reassure her, to tell her that everything was all right and Mama would be fine, but he didn't. He said, "Toussaint, you must get the children out of here. Take them to the park, or my grandfather's house. They can't be here for this." And Toussaint had gathered her, Ultime, and Madeleine, and hurried them out of the house almost before they could even put on their coats.

When they finally returned, much later that day, their house felt different — heavy and sad, as if all the hope and excitement that had been growing there for months was now blown away by the cold winter wind. There was a doctor with a long black coat and a very grim face in the hallway, talking to Papa. Angelique overheard him say, "...lost a great deal of blood, I'm afraid... may need to be hospitalized." At those words, her stomach dropped straight to the floor, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe.

Later, Papa gathered her, Ultime, and Madeleine all in the parlor and explained, very gently, that their little brother, Baby Georges, had gone up to heaven. It just happened sometimes with babies, Papa said — they were born too soon, and they went to heaven to be with God. He said that Mama was very sick and would need to stay in bed and rest until she was well again. He didn't say how long that would take, and Angelique worried that it would be a very long time. Ultime and Madeleine listened and nodded, as if they understood all this, but Angelique knew that they didn't, really, not in the same way that she did. They were so much littler than her.

She, Ultime, and Madeleine all bowed their heads and prayed for their baby brother to rest in peace and for their mama to get better soon, and then Papa hugged and kissed each of them, and Angelique felt a bit better.

But later that night, after Ultime and Madeleine were asleep, Angelique heard Papa crying. She'd never seen or heard her papa cry before, and it made her feel scared and uncertain, as if the whole world had turned upside-down.

Since then, a nurse had come every day to tend to Mama, who was occasionally well enough to sit up in bed and eat broth, but was still sore and sweaty and feverish much of the time. Papa and Toussaint were beside themselves with worry over her, and Angelique was too, but she tried to be brave. She reminded herself that she was a big girl now, nine-years-old, and she let Ultime and Madeleine play with her toys and kept them quiet and occupied, so that they wouldn't bother Papa or make too much noise and wake Mama.

That was why Angelique dragged her feet as they walked home from church. She didn't want to return to the miserable place that her house had become. It looked more miserable than ever now, with its dark curtains drawn over the windows like closed, dead eyes. Her heart burned as she looked at the houses on their street, all with glowing, golden-lit windowpanes. Many were decorated with cheerful springs of holly or strings of garland. Others had red and green candles burning merrily on the windowsills, and some framed big, finely-decorated Christmas trees. Their own house had no Christmas tree, nor even any garland or candles. Everybody had been so busy taking care of Mama and holding a funeral for Baby Georges that there had been no time at all for Christmas this year. Angelique was beginning to suspect that there would be no presents tomorrow morning, and that Père Noël was just a lie that grown-ups told.

Their next-door neighbors also had a nine-year-old girl, Victoire, and she and Angelique were friends. As they passed by her house, Angelique tugged on Papa's coat. "Papa," she asked, pointing. "Victoire's family is having a fête tonight, for Christmas. She said I was welcome. May I go?"

Marius turned and looked. Victoire's parents certainly were hosting a fête. He could see that clearly through their front windows: adults talking and sipping wine, children running about, playing and laughing. Angelique deserved to have some fun. "All right, darling," he said, "but mind your manners, and don't overstay your welcome."

"Yes, Papa," Angelique answered obediently. She waved and started down the front walk to Victoire's house. She waited until Papa and her siblings were inside their own house before she turned away and started walking down the dark street.

Angelique knew that she wasn't supposed to be out alone after dark, but she didn't want to go to Victoire's house. She didn't want to see all those happy, smiling people and all those shining ornaments on the Christmas tree. The past week had been so sad and strange and confusing, and Angelique was tired of always trying to be brave, trying to set a good example for Ultime and Madeleine. She wanted some time alone to feel sorry for herself — and so she walked down the street in the dark, pitying herself and trying to sort out her feelings. She felt angry, and it was an uncomfortable, confusing anger, because she still didn't quite understand what happened or who was to blame.

She was angry at Baby Georges, she finally decided, and she knew that it was terribly naughty of her to be angry at her poor dead baby brother, but she was. She was angry at him for being born too soon, and for dying right after, and for hurting their mama so much.

Angelique suddenly stopped walking when she saw strange, dark shapes lying on the curb at the end of their block. It was early in the evening, but already as dark as midnight, and the big, strange shapes were scary, but her curiosity won out, and she came closer. Why, they were only Christmas trees! Angelique remembered now: there had been a stand on this corner, a stand selling trees, but now that it was Christmas Eve night, the men must have closed down the stand and left these last few unsold trees out on the curb.

The idea spread all through her, warming her sad heart and making her fingertips tingle. She could take one of these trees home! She found the smallest tree in the pile, flung her arms around it, and began hauling it back down the street. She would take this tree home, and she and Ultime and Madeleine would decorate it together, and it would make tonight feel like Christmas. It would make things right again. Everyone would be so surprised when she brought it home. Everyone would be happy, for the first time in so long, and perhaps Mama would even feel well enough to get out of bed at last.

But Angelique hadn't gone far before her energy and enthusiasm flagged. This was the smallest tree from the pile, and even it was very heavy. Its branches dragged along the ground through the snow, and its pine needles pricked at her. Angelique set it down and looked down the street towards her house. She had still had quite a long way to go. She wiped her brow and looked down at the tree, discouraged. How would she ever get it home?

Suddenly, Angelique looked up. A large, black shape was standing close beside her in the darkness. She turned her head. It was a man who had come up behind her. Angelique had not seen him approach. She had not heard his footsteps crunching on the snow. She peered up into his face. He was an old man — as old as Grandfather Gillenormand, she guessed — with solid white hair, wearing a strange old yellow coat.

Angelique had never seen this man before, but she was not afraid.

So, how'd you like the first chapter? More to come. :)