On Christmas morning in the Town of Cokeworth, a thin mist pressed cold against the glass and condensed into tiny beads of water.
But the little house at 4 Privet Drive was toasty warm. Firewood crackled in the fireplace, and orange-red flames licked the hearth walls, casting a warm glow over the living room carpet.
It was a typical Muggle home—not large, but full of warmth.
The sofa covers were faded plaid washed nearly white, breakfast plates still sat uncleared on the coffee table with a little jam clinging to their rims, and a short Christmas tree stood in the corner, wrapped in colored paper streamers and tiny lights.
Lily sat cross-legged on the carpet, several differently wrapped parcels piled in front of her.
She wore a red sweater, her red hair tied behind her head, her cheeks flushed from the fire's heat, and her fingers had already skimmed impatiently over one parcel.
Petunia sat on the sofa, hugging her knees, her heavy gaze fixed on the parcels by Lily's hand, her lips pressed into a straight line.
Ever since they were little, she had always been able to find something different about Lily, and now it was even more so—this younger sister of hers had already broken into a world she could not touch.
Lily's parents sat on the sofa opposite. Her mother was knitting a sweater, her father held a cup of hot tea, and both of their gazes rested on their younger daughter.
"Open them slowly, Lily. Surprises are meant to be enjoyed bit by bit," her mother said with a smile.
Lily answered and first opened the gifts from her parents: a thick book of fairy tales and a knitted scarf, blue, matching the color of her eyes perfectly.
"Thank you, Mum and Dad!"
She tilted