Christmas Gift, Lily's Longing

Petunia sat at the table, munching on a toffee, her eyes fixed on the back of Lily's head.

She saw Lily curled up on the blanket, hugging her knees, resting her chin on them, glancing towards the window, then looking away, glancing again, then looking away again, her lips pouting, just like a child who couldn't wait for candy.

This doesn't look like the usual Lily.

For a fleeting moment, Petunia felt a strange mix of emotions.

She was used to Lily always getting more attention, and she was used to feeling uncomfortable because of it.

Seeing my sister like this, which is rare for her, I felt a sense of relief. It turns out that Lily also has times when she can't get what she wants, and that she can also feel down.

But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she frowned.

She is the older sister.

She shouldn't feel comfortable because her sister is unhappy; that kind of thinking is awful.

Petunia popped the second toffee into her mouth and chewed it vigorously.

It was just past nine o'clock, or maybe close to ten, when suddenly there was a knock on the door—three knocks, spaced evenly, with just the right amount of force. "I'll go see," Mr. Evans said, putting down his newspaper, standing up, walking to the door, and opening it.

The door opened, and a gust of cold wind rushed in, causing the fireplace flames to flicker.

Mr. Evans peeked out and looked around. The street was quiet, and the curtains in the neighbor's house were still drawn.

"Hello?" He took a step outside.

No one answered.

"Hello?" he called again, this time a little louder.

Lily heard her father call her name twice in the living room, and something suddenly flashed into her mind.

She jumped up from the blanket, her slippers slapping against the floor, ran to the door, and squeezed next to her father.

"Dad," she cried, peering out from behind the doorframe, then bowing her head with her father.

At the bottom of the steps, near the very bottom step, there was a basket.

It is oval-shaped, woven from dark brown willow branches, with a tight weave. A dark green ribbon is wrapped around the handle, and the knot is tied neatly and meticulously.

The basket was lined with a layer of dark velvet, and something was nestled on top of the velvet.

It was very small, black, curled up in a ball, and I couldn't tell what it was.

Lily crouched down, her eyes shining.

The black thing moved, extending a claw with dark gray pads and its nails retracted into its paw pads. Then a head emerged from its curled-up body.

A very small kitten, probably less than three months old.

Its short, pure black fur lay close to its body, its texture fine and dense. In the morning light, the tips of the fur shimmered with a very faint silver-gray sheen, like a thin layer of mist.

The kitten raised its head and looked at Lily.

A pair of deep blue eyes, so dark they seemed almost black, their pupils slightly contracting in the morning light.

When it looks at people, it doesn't dart around like a normal kitten; its gaze is fixed, and it stares at them quietly.

It didn't bark, didn't even open its mouth, just stared at Lily, tilting its head slightly.

It's not the round, chubby kind of kitten; it has a slender frame and long limbs, which aren't noticeable when it's curled up, but when it sits up with its front paws outstretched, its proportions become apparent.

It has long legs, a narrow body, a slender and straight neck, and pointed ears that splay slightly to the sides.

Elegant and noble.

Lily let out a short gasp, more of a breath than a sound, "Oh my God."

Mr. Evans also squatted down; he didn't recognize the breed, as his family had never owned a cat.

His knowledge of cats was limited to the chubby orange one kept at the bakery on the corner, and the long-haired gray cat next door that was always dozing on the windowsill.

But he could tell that the cat in front of him wasn't the kind that would appear on a street corner.

The short black fur shimmered with an indescribable silvery sheen in the morning light. Its frame was so small yet its lines were so beautiful, and those eyes—even someone who doesn't know much about cats knows this kind of creature isn't cheap.

Mr. Evans glanced into the basket; a card was tucked under the corner of the velvet cloth. He reached for it, but Lily's hand was faster, and she had already pulled it out.

He didn't say anything, but slowly stood up.

He looked at Lily's profile. His little daughter was squatting on the steps, one hand clutching a card, the other already in the basket, her fingers gently rubbing the kitten's head.

The kitten neither dodged nor came closer; it simply tilted its head slightly, letting her finger trace along the back of its ear.

He saw the expression on Lily's face: the joy of receiving a gift, the relief of something finally landing.

Same as last year.

Mr. Evans looked at his empty fingers, then at the back of Lily's head.

The Hogwarts boy's gift has arrived.

He had so much to say, but he couldn't utter a single word.

The things his daughter was exposed to were completely beyond his comprehension. What kind of family did the boy who could give away such things come from? All he knew was that, pieced together from Lily's vague descriptions, it was a family of wizards, a world that was infinitely far removed from their Evans family.

Mr. Evans didn't say anything, and turned to walk into the house.

Lily squatted on the steps, rubbing her fingers back and forth behind the kitten's ears several times.

The kitten cooperated well, neither hiding nor meowing, but it also didn't try to crawl into her hand, maintaining a unique sense of distance that only cats have.

Lily found it a little funny; this attitude seemed all too familiar.

Just as she was about to take the kitten out, a thought suddenly struck her, and she looked up at the street.

At the end of Lilac Road is a gentle slope, at the top of which stands a bare oak tree, its branches stretching out to the sky in winter.

A person was standing next to the oak tree.

The distance wasn't short, about forty or fifty meters. He was wearing a long black robe, the fabric of which swayed gently in the morning breeze, standing out from everything else on the street.

When the man saw Lily look up, he took off his hat.

He wore a dark, topped hat, the kind UK wizards wear on formal occasions. He took off his hat very slowly, as if deliberately slowing down so she could see it clearly.

Then he nodded slightly.

The distance was too great for Lily to see his face clearly, but she saw something else.

There was a small emblem on the left breast of the man's robe.

From that distance, she shouldn't have been able to see it clearly, but she could. The outline of the emblem became exceptionally sharp in her vision, and every line looked as if it had been thickened.

She had seen this coat of arms before, but it wasn't exactly the same; the one on Regulus's robe was more exquisite, with more intricate embroidery and different colors.

The figure is simplified, showing only the core design; perhaps it's an employee of the Black family? Or some kind of executor?

That's enough if you see it clearly.

The man put his hat back on, pulled the brim down slightly, turned and took two steps. His figure faded behind the oak tree for a moment, then vanished. Apparition, Silencio.

Lily stared at the oak tree for a while, and only looked away after confirming that the person had left.

The Black family's employees delivered the goods to a Muggle family's doorstep.

It was arranged by Regulus.

The Black family is Pure-bloods and has never had contact with Muggle, at least on the surface. However, employees are not considered family members, and their employers' positions are their positions.

The person chosen by Regulus for this mission wasn't an important figure, but they weren't just anyone either; they were at least clever. The delivery was completed in the Muggle district. After confirming the recipient saw it, a Magic was used from a distance to let her see the details of the emblem—a single glance was enough. No further words or unnecessary movements were made throughout the entire process.

They handled matters thoroughly and were courteous in their manners.

Lily squatted on the steps, a smile playing on her lips, her eyes shining.

She took the kitten out of the basket and held it in her arms. The kitten was startled by her sudden action.

It kicked its four paws twice in the air, then stopped moving. One front paw rested on the collar of her sweater, and its deep blue eyes looked up at her.

Lily looked down and met its gaze, then laughed out loud, turned, and ran into the house.

"Mom! Mom, look!"

As she ran into the living room, one of her slippers flew off, but she didn't care. With one bare foot on the carpet, she held the kitten up to Mrs. Evans. Mrs. Evans was startled by her movement, put down her knitting needles, and took the kitten for a look.

The kitten sat quietly in her hands, its deep blue eyes sweeping over her before turning its head toward Lily, a clear preference. "What kind of cat is this?" Mrs. Evans rolled over to look at its belly. The kitten protested, kicking with its paw but not extending its claws. "I don't know the breed," Lily said, snatching the kitten back and holding it close, gently stroking the back of its neck with her fingers. "But it's definitely not an ordinary cat."

She sat down in front of the fireplace, holding the kitten, and could feel something under her fingers, very faint, like touching a warm stone, with something slowly pulsating inside.

Magic Power, that feeling is unmistakable.

She wasn't surprised, because it was a gift from Regulus; it would be strange if it wasn't special.

She gently stroked the kitten's chin with her finger. The kitten squinted its eyes, raised its chin slightly, revealing a small area of lighter fur below its throat.

The fur there was dark gray, with a faint bluish tinge in the firelight of the fireplace.

"You're definitely not an ordinary kitten," Lily whispered.

The kitten glanced at her, then closed its eyes again.

She placed the kitten on the blanket and unfolded the card.

A piece of parchment, unsigned, with a faint patterned watermark pressed into the corner, the same as the one on last year's note.

She had seen this kind of parchment before; Regulus often used it to write, and his handwriting was the same.

"This one's easy to raise, and it's kind of like family. Don't feed it too much. Merry Christmas."

Lily read the line of text once, then read it again.

She smiled, folded the parchment, and put it in her sweater pocket.

Then she picked up the kitten, running her fingers from the top of its head to the tip of its tail. The kitten's tail was long and thin, and the end of it brushed against her fingertip before she let go.

Petunia saw the kitten.

The little black cat was curled up in Lily's arms, bathed in the light of the fireplace, its fur tips shimmering with a silvery sheen, its deep blue eyes half-closed; it looked so beautiful.

She likes cats; who doesn't like cute little animals?

But she didn't want to go there, because every time she got close to something like this, she was reminded that it wasn't her world, it had nothing to do with her. Petunia crumpled the candy wrapper in her hand, clenched it in her palm, and her eyes darkened.

Lily looked over at that moment.

She was about to call Petunia over to see the kitten, her mouth half-open, when she suddenly remembered something.

Kitten, parchment, that line of text, Regulus.

When I think of Regulus, the first image that comes to mind is that Abandoned Classroom, the silver light, and the words he spoke.

Patronus.

"Looking forward is longing, looking back is memory."

What you most want to Protection is not necessarily your happiest moment, but rather the thing you least want to lose.

She stood in front of the fireplace, looking at Petunia.

Petunia sat at the table, clutching a candy wrapper in her hand, her shoulders slightly hunched, avoiding her gaze.

Lily always knew what her sister was thinking.

Petunia changed the day she received her Hogwarts Acceptance Letter.

Before that, they shared a bedroom, hiding under the covers at night to tell ghost stories, and going to town together on weekends to buy cheap hair clips. In the summer, they would roll around on the lawn in the backyard, getting their clothes covered in grass stains, and their mother would chase them down the street yelling at them.

Later, Lily went to Hogwarts, Petunia went to the high school in Town of Cokeworth.

One learned to make leaves dance in their palm, the other learned how to pretend not to care.

She knew that Petunia had written to Dumbledore, asking him to accept her into Hogwarts as well.

After learning she had been rejected Petunia cried for an entire afternoon, locking herself in her bedroom and refusing to come out. She tore the reply into pieces, then put it back together, then tore it to pieces again.

She knew that Petunia's dislike wasn't filled with hatred, but rather the pain of wanting something but not being able to have it.

She wants to fix it.

She used to think there was nothing she could do; she couldn't share her Magic with Petunia, nor could she pretend she wasn't a witch. This rift was innate, and no one could mend it.

But Regulus's words echoed in her mind.

He told her to go find that longing, but she thought about it for a long time and still couldn't figure it out.

But now, looking at Petunia sitting there, at her sister's face, which was trying so hard to maintain its indifference but couldn't hide what lay beneath, she suddenly felt that perhaps there was some longing for something not too far away.

Petunia is her sister, and she wants Petunia to know that some things haven't changed. Even if Petunia never enters that Magic world, she's still her sister, and she doesn't want to lose her.

She didn't know if this counted as longing, but she wanted to try.

Lily, holding the kitten, walked towards Petunia.

Petunia watched her approach, instinctively wanting to frown, but she held back.

Lily walked up to her and handed the kitten forward, saying, "Sister."

Petunia looked up and saw Lily holding up the black kitten, its deep blue eyes staring at her, its paws resting on Lily's fingers, its tail drooping with a slightly upturned tip.

"Let's give it a name," Lily said with a smile.

Petunia was stunned.

She looked at Lily's face, and Lily smiled at her, her eyes crinkling, just like when she was a child.

She glanced at the kitten again.

The kitten tilted its head, as if sizing her up.

Petunia shifted her gaze from the kitten and glanced at her parents over there.

Her mother looked at her with a smile, and her father looked at her and nodded.

Petunia looked at Lily again.

Her lips moved slightly, her expression shifting between stiffness and softness before settling on an unnatural smile.

"You've always given really awful names," she said, her voice a little hoarse.

Lily laughed even harder and shoved the kitten directly into Petunia's arms.

Petunia hurriedly caught it. The kitten kicked in her palm, then curled up, its front paws resting on her wrist, its tail gently brushing against her forearm.

Petunia looked down at the cat, touched its back with her finger, pulled it back as if it were something very hot, then stretched it out again and gently touched it.

The charcoal in the fireplace cracked, and two Mars flew out, landing on the iron bars and extinguishing the fire.