The final days of term were wet and stormy. The closest Hogwarts had gotten to snow was ice freezing the pipes and lawns every morning.
"Enjoy your Christmas. When term starts we will begin looking at the Patronus Charm." The ends of Flitwick's moustache quivered with excitement. "Mr Weaver, don't forget your ink pot!"
The bell echoed through the cold, holly-strung halls. Classroom doors slammed open and hoards of students piled out, all excitedly discussing their plans for Christmas break.
Lily slowly packed away her notes then made her way to the front of the class where Professor Flitwick was trying to fit a handful of feathers into a bag.
She cleared her throat, and said, "Professor?"
"Oh!" He spun around in surprise, assuming his students had all left as quickly as possible. "Ah, Miss Evans. What can I do for you?"
"I was wondering if there was any reading I could do over the break to prepare for next term?"
"Just your textbook will suffice, but I'm sure you've read that already."
Lily nodded.
"In that case, would you be interested in borrowing my copy of Quintessence: A Quest? It's quite modern but a good read." He said fondly, summoning a book from one of the towering piles behind him.
She took it from his outstretched hands, "Thank you, it sounds fascinating."
"Not a problem, Miss Evans. Have a good Christmas." He beamed, moustache bristling.
"You too, Professor." Lily smiled in return, then left the classroom.
---
On Saturday they were woken by Mary's excited cries. Overnight thick white blankets of snow had coated the grounds and castle. Lily was unsuccessful in convincing Alice and Jackie to go to breakfast—they insisted on starting a snowball fight.
She crossed her arms as they wrapped their scarves around their necks, saying, "Well, you can't complain to me on the way home if you're hungry."
The Great Hall had been beautifully decorated. A particularly enormous pine stood proudly behind the teacher's table, its tallest branch almost scraping the magical ceiling as Professor Flitwick and Professor Eikenhorst levitated ornate ornaments onto its pine needles. The other eleven, significantly smaller trees lined the walls of the hall, each covered in similar baubles. The frog choir stood poised at the front of the hall, singing Christmas hymns as students took their seats.
Alice and Jackie joined everyone in the Great Hall after half an hour; they were soaked through to the bone but grinned from ear to ear.
After a hearty breakfast and copious amounts of steaming tea, students pooled into the Entrance Hall. James, Sirius and Mary were all staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. The remainder of the group bid goodbye to their friends as they pulled on their warmest coats. They followed the crowd out of the castle, dragging their trunks along with them to where the horseless carriages stood waiting, ready to take the students down to Hogsmeade Station.
They had opted to take the Knight Bus; it was much faster and typically less crowded than the Hogwarts Express, despite the rough trip they would surely endure.
---
The Knight Bus screamed to a stop atop a hill in a town outside London. Number forty-three, George Avenue stood just beyond the exit, warm and welcoming. Marlene stood on shaky legs, collecting her trunk from the front of the bus.
"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Lily asked her last remaining friend. Everyone else had already gotten off.
"Don't worry about it, I'll be fine," Marlene reassured her. "Before I forget, what have you got in that trunk of yours? 'Cause it was blooming heavy."
"You said it didn't hurt!"
Marlene laughed outright. Lily pushed her exasperatedly towards the back of the bus.
"I'll write to you," Marlene called up at her friend once she had hopped down onto the sidewalk.
Lily waved through an open window, then slumped back in her seat as a bare-branched tree slotted back into place in front of Marlene's home and the Knight Bus raced down the street with an ear-bursting bang.
After stopping in a quiet seaside village and beside the Leaky Cauldron the driver of the Knight Bus slammed his foot on the break, leaving large skid marks all down Lily's street. Trunk and owl cage in hand she fled the death contraption as quickly as possible, only stopping for an awkward conversation with the conductor who was trying to decide whether he had seen her before. They had met when she and Mary caught the bus over the summer but Lily failed to remind him of that.
"Lily!" Mr Evans was standing at the front of their house, beaming. He surged forwards, down the steps and through the garden to the front gate. "Good to see you, Lils." He took hold of her trunk.
"Good to see you too, Dad." Lily smiled, wrapping an arm around his torso as she stepped through the gate.
"Your mother is in a right state. She's been in a whirlwind cleaning the house before Grandma Iris arrives."
Lily frowned. "When is she getting here?"
Her father's face paled slightly as he glanced at his watch, "In two and a half hours."
The wreath-strung door swung open. Mrs Evans stood in the doorway, face flushed, hair wild, eyes frantic.
"Come on then!" She hurried the duo inside, her voice a noticeably higher pitch than normal.
They bustled through the doorway, wiping the snow off their shoes and shaking off their coats on the way in.
"Alright, take your things upstairs, darling." Mrs Evans wagged a finger at the staircase after hugging her daughter briefly.
Lily tucked Monet's cage under her arm, and began half-carrying, half-dragging her trunk up to her room. She didn't get far before her mother's face appeared at the foot of the stairs, voice bouncing up the carpet to the second floor.
"Don't bother unpacking. Lots to do—Henry, help me shift this couch!"
Mr Evans' eye roll was palpable as he sighed, "Coming, dear."
The next two hours were spent chaotically cleaning the house from top to bottom. With a few minutes to two, Mrs Evans decided the house was perfect, leaving just enough time for everyone to change into clean clothes.
Lily walked down the stairs for what felt like the thousandth time since getting home and had her first proper look around. She knew from her mother's letters that she, Petunia and Mr Evans had spent the past week putting up decorations. It seemed such an effort compared to how the teachers magically decorated Hogwarts.
She spotted her father in the loungeroom seated in his favourite squishy armchair. He had his reading glasses on and was attempting to fill out a crossword.
He looked up at Lily as she plonked down onto the lounge adjacent to him. Tino was curled on a throw beside her, purring softly.
"Ah, good." He grinned, placing the newspaper on the coffee table and jabbing it with his finger. "Strips in a Club. Five letters."
She peered at the space; fourth letter 'O'. "Bacon."
"Brilliant!" He snatched up the paper, pencilling in the word. "I knew you'd be more help. No offence, but Petunia is rubbish at these." He wobbled the crossword before frowning at it, pushing his glasses up his nose and reading the next clue—an action Lily found oddly familiar.
She gazed up at the homely Christmas tree nestled in the corner of the room beside the fireplace. Measly in comparison to those she had been admiring early that day, but she preferred this one. It suited their family far better.
"How was the trip home, Lily?" Her mother—looking considerably less dishevelled—asked as she glided through the doorway, setting a tray of homemade fruit mince pies on the coffee table.
Lily breathed in the delicious aroma saturating the room, saying "Bumpy. I'm pretty sure Peter Pettigrew vomited on his doorstep."
Her mother gasped.
At that moment, as the clock ticked over to two o'clock, a knock came from the door.
"I'll get it." Lily stood up, walking through to the hallway.
A silhouette was waiting behind the door, half-hidden by the wreathe. Lily pulled open the door to reveal her Grandmother, Iris Evans, laden with bags upon bags upon bags.
"Lily!" Grandma Iris beamed, shuffling forward to squeeze the redhead tightly.
"Hi, Gran. Can I take one of those for you?" Lily motioned to the luggage behind her.
"Oh, yes, thank you." Grandma Iris surged forwards, leaving her luggage on the doorstep.
Warm greetings wafted from the lounge, mingling with a Christmas carol emitting from the record player.
"April, what an interesting colour scheme you've chosen." Grandma Iris was standing in front of the Christmas tree, peering at it with a scrunched nose as Lily hauled the last of the bags into the house.
Mrs Evans had a look of what could only be described as constipation on her face. Luckily, she was spared from further scrutiny as Petunia wafted into the lounge.
---
Half an hour later, Lily snuck up to her room where Monet was sleeping peacefully. With Jingle Bell Rock firmly stuck in her head she set about unpacking her trunk, as quietly as possible. It didn't take very long as she had left most of her belongings at Hogwarts, and soon she was sliding her sock draw closed.
The final contents of the trunk were Quintessence; A Quest, which Lily placed carefully on the bedside table and bags, now crinkled and creased, containing Christmas presents for her family: a Point O'Clock—a magical watch whose third hand pointed in the direction of whatever you asked it to—from Welsh Wizard Wear for her father, a candle in her mother's favourite scent that never ran out of wax from a small shop in Hogsmeade and for Petunia, a thirty-pound voucher at her favourite boutique in Muggle London.
The sun began to set as Lily got to work wrapping the first few gifts. Monet opened her eyes and watched from her perch as she carefully creased the paper with her finger, grasping around for Spell-O-Tape with her free hand.
Mary's unicorn fur earmuffs and James's Broom Compass—recently purchased from Hogsmeade—were both wrapped in matching red paper. Fastening twine around them, Lily got up from her position on the carpet and walked over to where Monet was now fully conscious.
"These are for Mary and James at Hogwarts. You can go hunting after you've delivered them." She pushed open the white window frame, holding out the loop of twine.
Monet hooted twice, nipping Lily's finger affectionately before flying out the window. Lily closed it quickly, not wanting any more warm air to escape.
Settling back down, she got to work again, determined to finish before anyone came to drag her back downstairs.
"Lily!" A voice drifted through the door halfway through the third-last present.
Lily was sprawled on her side, desperately feeling around under her bed. She pulled out a sock, a book, an old school tie, an owl treat, and a dried-out fountain pen. She faintly heard someone walk up the stairs and approach her room. Point O'Clock, never-ending candle and gift card all securely wrapped, she didn't bother covering the present currently splayed on the carpet.
"Lily!" Petunia pushed the door open. She stopped, mouth half-open, taking in the sight before her. "Uh... What are you doing?"
"I lost the scissors," Lily stated simply from under the bed.
"Right. Mum wants your help in the kitchen." Seeming humoured, she closed the door, leaving Lily in her cramped position.
"I'll be down in a minute!" Her hands finally closed around the handle of the scissors. She sat up, finished the last presents off, then traipsed downstairs, pulling her auburn hair out of the low ponytail it had been messily imitating.
The kitchen was in a state of anarchy. Grandma Iris was sitting at the island, one eyebrow arched high into her hairline. Her hands were performing a stirring motion. Mrs Evans had an apron tied tightly around her middle and stood facing her mother-in-law. She was in the process of receiving a lecture on how to properly make gravy with the perfect consistency; not too thick, not too thin, just right.
"Lily." Mrs Evans' eyes snapped to her youngest daughter as she entered the kitchen. "Take the chicken out of the oven, would you? I need to check on something." With that, she promptly exited the room.
The rest of the evening followed a similar pattern. After our roast chicken dinner, Grandma Iris insisted on playing cards. Mrs Evans, however, was adamant about getting to bed as everyone had had a long day. You can imagine how that went.
Eventually, Lily made her way up to her room; she set a cup of tea next to the book Flitwick had lent her and went about changing into pyjamas.
She had just opened the cover to the book when a tapping at her window sounded. The McKinnon family owl was furiously batting snow away from the glass. Lily opened it hurriedly for the second time that evening. Cygnus flew in, hooting proudly. He dropped a parcel on the bed and landed beside Monet's empty cage, ruffling his feathers, snowflakes dropping onto the floor and swiftly melting.
Lily picked up the parcel wrapped in butchers paper, tied with white ribbon, and smiled at Marlene's curly handwriting. Lily, was scratched in large letters on the tag and under it, do not open until Christmas, was underlined. Twice.
After tossing Cygnus an owl treat, she opened her trunk and pulled out a thin, square parcel. It was a record of David Bowie's second-latest album, Station to Station. Marlene had been hooked on Bowie since Lily had played one of his records during the Summer between fourth and fifth year.
After Cygnus finished the treat and had warmed up significantly, he flew back out the window with Marlene's record clutched in his claws. Lily watched him fly off towards London, then settled into bed and picked up Flitwick's book once more.
---
The tinkle of a bell filled the shop as the door of Gladrags Wizardwear was pushed open.
"Welcome to Gladrags Wizardwear." A young witch behind the counter said a practice-perfect greeting. "How are you today?"
"Good, thanks." The first of two boys smiled. He turned to his friend who had followed him through the doorway. "I just need to grab a new pair of socks and then we can keep searching for Evans's gift, alright?"
"Fine." The second nodded. He began perusing one of the aisles as the first bustled towards a stand of novelty socks. "Hey, Padfoot!" He called out, doubling back and clutching a thickly knit piece of fabric. "What about this?"
Sirius walked over holding a pair of the most lurid socks James had ever seen. "What about what?"
"This scarf—for Evans. It matches her eyes."
Sirius made a gagging sound, bending forward and clutching his middle. "Sorry." He straightened up. "That was just the most disgusting thing you've ever said."
James glared at his best friend and stalked towards the counter to ask the price of the emerald green scarf.
"Six Galleons and eleven Knuts." The witch behind the counter, whose nametag read Evangeline, smiled brightly.
James nodded, turning to Sirius. "Do you think she'd like it?"
"She would love it, Prongs," Sirius said in all seriousness.
"Excellent." James grinned. "I'll just get that, please."
"Would you like it gift-wrapped?" The witch asked as James pulled out his money pouch.
"That'd be great, thanks."
"Funny nicknames, you boys have. What do they mean?"
"School joke." Sirius gave nothing away and simply winked before taking his place in front of the register.
Socks purchased and gift securely wrapped, James and Sirius made their way out the clothing store into the white streets of Hogsmeade. Snow crunched beneath the soles of their shoes as they made their way towards the Hog's Head Inn for lunch.
"I've got to go to the post office first." James steered himself away from the route. "Order me a Butterbeer would you?"
Hogsmeade Post Office housed at least two–to–three–hundred owls, ranging from Great Grey Owls to tiny Scops, hooting down from colour-coded shelves. Owl droppings that hit the floor were swept away by an enchanted broom. A sign behind the counter read Scops for local deliveries only. At the sound of the bell ringing, a man, who himself resembled an owl, came through a side door. The smell of dead mice wafted in behind him.
"Afternoon," the man said, sliding behind the counter. "Ed Gairloch. What can I do for you?"
James placed the paper bag with Gladrags Wizardwear's logo printed on the side on the countertop, "I'm looking for an owl to get this to Cokeworth by tomorrow morning."
"Bit late leaving presents till Christmas Eve," The post office owner chuckled light-heartedly.
"I only found it today." James looked anywhere but Ed's yellow eyes, cheeks flushing pink.
"No matter, no matter. We still have plenty of owls who could make the journey." With that, he pulled out an enormous book and began flipping through the pages. Each page consisted of a British town; Adlington, Ampthill, Appleby... Badlesmere, Bagshot, Barnton... Canterbury, Chatham, Chudleigh. "Here we are, Cokeworth, English Midlands, Great Britain. Four hundred miles. Now, you'd like it there by tomorrow..." Ed retrieved an intricate set of scales from the shelf behind him and set it on the counter. "Now if you would pop the gift on there."
The scales wavered as Ed placed weights on the opposite end of the scale until it reached equilibrium at half a kilogram. James watched curiously as Ed pulled out a sheet of parchment and began scribbling a set of calculations, checking his watch occasionally.
"For ten Sickles and six Knuts, the parcel will arrive by seven on Christmas morning. Two options will get there in the early hours but no one wants that. By express owl, it will arrive by ten o'clock tonight for one Galleon, three Sickles and thirteen Knuts."
"I think seven o'clock will be fine."
"Very well."
Once again James was back in the street. The weather had worsened, so much so that he had to fight against wind and snow which were forcing him backwards. Fortunately, the Hogs Head Inn was only two streets off High Street and James quickly found himself standing in front of a worn-out wooden sign hanging over the door, advertising a wild boar's severed head leaking blood onto the white cloth around it. The Christmas decorations on the building were dismal compared to those throughout Hogsmeade's High Street, consisting of a string of wilting holly and a wreath hanging on the door.
"Festive," James mumbled.
Stepping into the tavern, James was met by an unpleasant smell. There was an ancient wooden till behind the bar. The bar itself was small and extraordinarily dirty and strewn with sawdust with the windows nearly opaque and the floor all but invisible beneath the dirt. Even the rags behind the bar seem filthy. Six people occupied the pub; James himself, the man behind the bar who James presumed was the owner, a pair of witches whispering by the front door, one toothless wizard who had grumpily made his way up the rickety wooden staircase when James entered and Sirius.
Sirius was huddled at a round table in the corner of the pub. He looked up and grinned as James approached, pulling off his snowy coat. He had a foam moustache, which he wiped away with his sleeve, and was leaning over a messy piece of scrap parchment.
"What's that smell?"James asked, dropping into a chair beside his grey-eyed friend and grasping a full glass of Butterbeer.
"Goats."
An obnoxious bleat sounded from above them. James frowned at the ceiling.
"Anyway, check this out." Sirius ushered James closer. "I've got a plan for our next prank..."
---
Petunia was surprisingly kind for the first week of the holidays. It might have been because Grandma Iris was there, but Lily didn't mind; it was nice getting along with her sister for once. But on Christmas Eve, everything went back to normal.
An hour before dinner an unexpected knocking came from the hallway.
"He's here!" Petunia had jumped off her armchair and ran from the living room.
Lily watched the doorway curiously, unaware of who he was.
Tino hissed and ran out of the room as 'he' stepped into the lounge and Lily came face to face to face with the infamous Vernon Dursley. Vernon was a big, beefy young man, looking somewhat like a walrus, with hardly any neck, and a post-pubescent moustache. I grimaced.
Petunia became insufferably prissy after that, squawking at anything Vernon said and making dull unimpressive boasts. It was safe to say Lily was positively peeved.
Dinner was served not long after the walrus arrived and Lily filed into the dining room behind Petunia and Vernon. She snorted, noticing that his bottom drooped over each side of his chair; something she knew the Marauders would make a point of mentioning.
Once everyone was seated people began loading Mrs Evans' best China with the array of dishes before us. Scooping peas onto her plate, Lily peered at the couple across the table. Petunia had roughly half the amount of food Lily did and Vernon, conversely, had a pile that would rival Sirius Black's at breakfast.
Mr Evans looked up from his place at the head of the table. "So, Verdell—"
"Vernon," Petunia corrected him quickly.
"Vernon, what is it you do? Do you work?"
Overjoyed at the chance to talk about himself, Vernon straightened up and turned to face Mr Evans. "I work at Grunnings, Sir. I've recently been promoted to Junior Executive. The bakery across the street is actually where I happened to meet your beautiful daughter, Petunia."
Mrs Evans cooed at the sentiment and Petunia batted her eyelashes. Mr Evans seemed unswayed and Gran was utterly indifferent. She was far more interested in stabbing a stray carrot. Lily was completely shocked that Petunia, who was morally opposed to sugar, could ever be found in a bakery, of all places.
After finishing school Petunia had taken up a typing course in London where she, thin as a Bowtruckle, met Vernon, large and neckless. In one of Mrs Evans' letters from when they first started dating, she had recounted Tuney describing him as a model of manliness. He not only returned Petunia's romantic interest but was deliciously normal. He had a perfectly correct car and wanted to do completely ordinary things, and by the time he had taken Petunia on a series of dull dates, during which he talked mainly about himself and his predictable ideas on the world, Petunia was dreaming of the moment when he would place a ring on her finger. Lily gagged at the thought of having him as a brother-in-law.
"What line of business is Grunnings in, exactly?"
"We manufacture and sell high-quality drills."
Mr Evans nodded.
Unimpressed by the reaction Petunia added, "They've been on top of the market since Vernon was promoted. The director is considering promoting him again to Senior Executive in a few months if sales continue growing—"
"Which, of course, they will."
"Not the only thing that's growing," Lily muttered under her breath.
The table remained all the more oblivious as Petunia shot daggers at her sister. Lily lifted her feet quickly, tucking them behind her chair legs, all too aware that Petunia would try to stomp on her toes. Lily stuck out her tongue as the sound of a shoe sole slapping floorboards sounded, before lifting a glass of water to her lips.
"Lily June Evans, that is disgraceful," Grandma Iris scolded the slurp that followed, tutting loudly.
The residual conversation that evening confirmed Lily's initial thoughts of Vernon Dursley. He was extremely unmagical, opinionated and materialistic.
Eventually, after an unbearably drawn-out dinner and dessert, everyone's plates were cleared and Mrs Evans was pottering around the kitchen making tea. Mr Evans wiped his mouth with a napkin and turned to the neckless young man directly in front of Lily. Mr Evans, Senior Assistant Editor for the Times, was always up to date with goings-on in England and had been waiting with bated breath for an opportunity to ask Vernon's opinion on the latest headlines.
"So, Vernon. Think much of the robbery in London last week?"
Lily frowned as she pictured the newspaper articles that had poured in through our front door. MAN DIES IN ROBBERY-GONE-WRONG, the Times wrote. SECOND BRITISH MURDER IN A MONTH: COULD THEY BE CONNECTED? The Evening Standard had speculated. MYSTERIOUS MURDER: NO VISIBLE CAUSE OF DEATH, Coventry Telegraph's front page read. The London Gazette's similar title was followed by a picture of an elderly man who more or less looked as though he had passed in his sleep. The only suggestion of foul play being the smashed windows of his shop and the door torn clean off its hinges.
Eyewitnesses report that they saw five large figures dressed in black break into Mr Dodson's shop on Sunday evening. "They came out the alley around the corner and headed straight for the bookstore. Kicked in the door to the back of the shop." Mrs Ventura claims. "I thought it was strange because they was dressed in cloaks, you see, and you don't see that often. Then I heard shouting, that's when I called the peelers. But by the time they [police] arrived they'd gone..."
Lily recalled something James had said to her before the end of term, "...I've heard them talking about some dumb group of pureblood supremacists once or twice. Something about them causing trouble all around Britain."
The pieces slotted into place. Her eyes widened. It wasn't a robbery gone wrong. She was pulled out of the seclusion of her thoughts as Vernon scoffed loudly.
"I presume the old man had it coming." He stated confidently. "He probably wracked up debt and couldn't pay it back. It was in Hackney, was it not? Poor part of London, dangerous too. Yes, I'd say it was just a spot of gang violence."
Lily baulked at the insensitive conclusion.
Mr Evans looked as if someone had cut out his tongue, Gran tutted loudly, shaking her head and Petunia's jaw bounced off the table. Quickly regaining her composer, she clamped her mouth shut and hummed thoughtfully. Lily's eyes bulged as she watched her sister. Vernon, unaware of the stir he had caused, picked crumbs off of his shirt.
"You can't possibly agree with him, Tuney," Lily burst out. "That was the most brainlessly inconsiderate compassionless remark I have ever had the displeasure of hearing."
Cogs spun in Vernon's head. Finally realising he had been insulted, his face turned a vulgar shade of puce, quite similar to the colour of Petunia's blouse. Petunia's face turned deathly white as she glared at Lily.
"Yes." She stated, rising from her chair and half standing in front of her walrus-boyfriend as if to defend him from any more verbal damage. "I do. Hackney is poverty-stricken; full of unsavoury behaviour and corruption. The man was probably a gambler."
"The man has a name, you know."
Now it was Mr Evans' turn to speak, "Mr Dodson owned a bookstore, Petunia. He was a perfectly well off man who enjoyed a quiet life revolving around his pet mouse, afternoon teas and classic literature. He certainly wasn't a gambler and he did not have any debts." He was looking directly at Vernon who appeared to be deciding whether or not to rebut.
The tension hung thick in the air as Mrs Evans waltzed into the dining room with a tray of teacups.
"Who died?" She chuckled unknowingly.
"Mr Dodson."
"Oh, Henry. You're not still going on about that poor man, are you? Let his memory rest in peace. Come on, everyone, let's move to the lounge."
Lily finished her tea quickly, not caring that the scolding liquid—despite containing a helping of milk—burnt her tongue. Leaving everyone to their game of Monopoly, she set her teacup on the sink and made her way up to her bedroom, relieved to finally be away from the horribly matched couple. She heard Petunia say her name as her foot hit the landing of the second floor.
"Lily," she hissed, jogging up the steps behind her.
Lily groaned, "What now?"
Ignoring her obvious annoyance she skipped the final step, coming face to face with her sister. "I was wondering if you could be a bit nicer to Vernon."
"Have I done something wrong?"
"Don't play dumb. You've been nasty since the moment he got here."
"I wouldn't say I was being nasty, merely truthful."
"Lily, I'm being serious. I really like Vernon, I want him to stick around. And I know you and Dad call him Vermin, don't even try to deny it."
Lily crossed her arms, "Have you told him about me? About Hogwarts? About how I'm a witch?"
Petunia flapped her hands, looking around feverishly to check no one was listening. Satisfied, she said, "So what if I have?"
"Tuney! You can't—"
She flapped her arms again, shushing Lily. "I know, I know. I haven't told him anything. I wouldn't want to scare him off, he might think I'm weird too."
"I beg your pardon—"
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah, you mean I'm a freak! Don't you?" Lily's cheeks burned as anger boiled inside her.
"Lily," she rolled her eyes, "that's not—"
Lily didn't wait for her to finish. She stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She heard a scoff and footsteps disappear downstairs.
The next five minutes were spent pacing around her room, muttering to herself. Eventually, she grew tired and flopped onto her bed.
"Don't look at me like that," She frowned at Monet. "You'd do the same if you had a sister like her."
Monet squawked in response and cocked her head.
---
Lily awoke on Christmas morning to the squawking of an owl outside her window. She smiled at the name tag before tearing open the wrapping. A brilliant emerald scarf fell onto her lap. She admired it, holding it up to her face for inspection. Mesmerising faint gold specks flirted with its thread and the scarf itself felt like liquid gold on her hands.
Next, she moved to Marlene's present. Hidden beneath the parchment was a leather album containing photographs from the past year. Smiling faces grinned up at her and waved from the thin pages of the album. Her fingers traced the words describing and dating each picture. She laughed out loud at a photo of Jackie with vivid green hair and a disgruntled ever-blinking expression.
Remembering that time was still ticking and life was going on without her, Lily put down the album and headed for the door. After she had showered and gotten ready for the day three other owls arrived with gifts from her friends. Luckily the last had gone before her Aunt, Uncle and three cousins arrived. Christmas consisted of bellies stuffed with scrumptious food, boozy eggnog, a wrapping-paper strewn livingroom, overly-competitive card games, festive music and conversation that swam into the early hours of the morning. Lily gave Mum and Dad their presents in private so her Muggle family wouldn't catch onto their non-Muggle-ness.
The rest of the holidays passed in the blink of an eye. The two sisters said very little to each other; Alice turned seventeen; the New Year came and went with a handful of sparklers; and soon it was January second, second term. At ten-thirty Lily met Marlene at King's Cross Station and Jackie on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and together they boarded the Hogwarts Express to find Alice.
---
☞ Thank you so much for holding out for this chapter! I really hope you liked it. Let me know what you want to happen throughout the rest of sixth-year, I'd love to hear what you have to say
Now to write the next chapter...
— 𝑩