Chapter 58: Christmas Gifts
Christmas morning in Cokeworth. A thin mist clung to the glass, condensing into fine droplets.
Inside the little house at 4 Privet Drive, everything was snug. Firewood crackled in the hearth, orange light licking the grate, warming the carpet in the sitting room.
A typical Muggle home — not large, but full of warmth.
The sofa covers were checkerboard cloth laundered to softness. Breakfast plates still sat on the coffee table, a smear of jam at the rim. In the corner stood a modest Christmas tree wound with colored streamers and twinkling fairy lights.
Lily sat cross-legged on the carpet, an assortment of parcels heaped before her.
She wore a red sweater; her red hair was tied back. The firelight had brought a flush to her cheeks, and her fingers were already brushing over one of the packages.
Petunia sat on the sofa with her knees drawn up, eyes dark and heavy on the parcels beside Lily, lips pressed into a thin line.
For as long as she could remember, she had noticed something different about Lily — and now it was more pronounced than ever. Her sister had stepped into a world she could never reach.
Lily's parents sat on the facing sofa — Mother knitting, Father nursing a cup of hot tea, both watching their younger daughter.
"Take your time, Lily. Surprises are best savored." Mother smiled. Lily called out an answer and unwrapped her parents' gift first: a thick storybook and a knitted scarf — blue, a perfect match for her eyes.
"Thank you, Mum! Thank you, Dad!"
She beamed up at them, looped the scarf around her neck, and turned to share the moment with Petunia — only to find her sister looking away, pretending to study the view outside. The loneliness in her eyes was impossible to hide.
Lily's smile faded a fraction. A pang of helplessness crossed her mind. She knew Petunia had always resented being unable to enter the magical world the way Lily did. That gap meant they would never recapture the effortless closeness of childhood.
But there was nothing she could do. She wasn't the headmaster, after all.
She said no more and turned to the rest. Mostly simple cards and sweets. The last parcel, however, immediately caught her eye.
It was conspicuously different. The wrapping paper was a deep green, with intricate patterns traced in silver thread.
The paper felt exquisite; the edges were trimmed with clinical neatness; even the ribbon was silk. Clearly expensive.
Lily's heart beat a little faster. She didn't need to guess who had sent it.
Petunia's gaze was pulled toward it too — curiosity and envy tangled in her eyes.
Mother leaned in. "Who sent this one? The wrapping is lovely."
"A... a friend from school." Lily answered vaguely. There was no name or mark, but she knew. It was Regulus.
Even the wrapping exuded that mixture of aristocratic elegance and quiet restraint — every inch of it noble.
Inside was a dainty crossbody bag. The body was pale violet, soft leather — exquisitely smooth to the touch, the style refined yet just cute enough to delight any girl.
Beside the bag lay a folded note.
"Wow!" Lily couldn't help the exclamation, pure delight flooding her voice.
She picked up the bag and pulled open the flap — and discovered that the interior space was far larger than it appeared. She could easily fit her textbooks and wand inside while the bag stayed compact on the outside.
"What is this?" Father leaned in, turning the bag in his hands. "It looks so small. How can things fit in it?"
Lily unfolded the note. In neat handwriting, it explained that the bag carried an Undetectable Extension Charm for convenient storage, complete with usage instructions — concise and clear.
She read the contents aloud for her parents, emphasizing how rare the bag was.
"In the wizarding world, items with spatial charms are hard to come by — especially one crafted this beautifully. Most young witches and wizards could never get hold of one."
Her parents stared, wide-eyed. Mother reached out and gently touched the bag, concern entering her voice: "Isn't it too valuable? Your friend... why would they send something this fine?"
Lily held the bag, falling quiet for a beat. The extravagance of Regulus's gift caught her off guard; her own knitted scarf suddenly felt inadequate.
But she could only say: "He's a good friend. I'll accept this, and I'll make sure to help him in return."
Once a gift was given and received, returning it was out of the question. She rallied. She was not the kind of girl to feel inferior over receiving something costly.
She recalled Regulus mentioning that his family was researching ancient topical potion formulas — they needed Potions ingredients capable of stably carrying and slowly releasing specific magical effects.
She resolved, quietly, to put even more effort into that.
In truth, Regulus hadn't considered the gift particularly precious. He had simply sent what he could spare and had invested rather more thought in selecting a style she'd like.
Seeing her delight and conviction, her parents said nothing further, only reminding her to thank the sender properly.
Lily nodded, then turned to share the joy with Petunia — only to find her sister already on her feet, walking wordlessly back to her room.
Lily sighed softly and set the bag carefully beside her.
Meanwhile, in a Parisian apartment, Andromeda opened the only Christmas gift she had received from the House of Black.
The flat was tidy and bright, warmly arranged, with a view of the Parisian street. Christmas decorations were already up.
Andromeda had been reading by the window when a faint sound came from the entryway. She looked up. Kreacher stood there, cradling a black velvet box, expression reverent.
"Miss Andromeda." Kreacher bowed and extended the box. "The Young Master asked Kreacher to deliver this Christmas gift."
Andromeda set down her book, surprise flickering across her face, and accepted the box.
She hadn't yet been fully disowned; the blood-link to the family still held, which was why Kreacher could appear directly at her side.
She opened the box. Inside lay a small golden key engraved with the Gringotts seal, and a note listing the details of a Gringotts Paris vault.
"The Young Master says: if no one asks, say nothing." Kreacher added — then vanished in an instant.
In stark contrast to Cokeworth's warmth and Paris's tranquility, Christmas at the Potter house was all noise and energy.
James Potter wore a garish Christmas sweater, wand in hand, performing tricks in the living room — Transfiguring an apple into a tiny singing bird. Cheers erupted around him.
Sirius lounged on the sofa, grinning ear to ear, Butterbeer in hand.
He had settled completely into Potter family life. No Black family strictures here, no mother's rebukes — only the company of friends and the open air of freedom.
His smile was genuine to the core. The shadows that once lurked at the bottom of his eyes had long been scattered by the light, and the boy radiated an irrepressible, exuberant energy.
Mister and Missus Potter sat in the place of honor, watching the children roughhouse, contentment all over their faces.
Sirius threw himself into the joy, playing alongside James.
And in a cramped house on Spinner's End, Snape sat at a cold table, unwrapping the only Christmas present he'd received — other than Lily's.
It had arrived by owl. Plain packaging, no markings at all — just two slips of parchment.
Snape's fingers were stiff as he peeled the wrapping away. Inside: a handwritten Potions recipe and a separate sheet recording a foundational Dark Arts spell.
Snape's eyes lit up. He gripped the recipe and the parchment tightly.
The note bore one more line: "Effort yields reward. Knowledge is built through accumulation."
He recognized it at once — payment from Regulus, for the intelligence he'd passed along.
Snape stared at the words, an unfamiliar sensation stirring inside him.
He had volunteered information for Regulus — tidbits he himself considered trivial, hardly worth attention. He hadn't expected a return.
He had assumed Regulus was like every other pure-blood aristocrat — proud, aloof. He hadn't anticipated this dimension of fairness.
Snape concluded that Regulus viewed him as an equal collaborator: knowledge in exchange for service.
Even though his service, by his own estimation, barely qualified as contribution.
He tucked the recipe and parchment away with care, slipping them inside his most prized Potions textbook. Then he picked up his wand, ready to practice the spell on the sheet.
A beat later, as if remembering something, he set the wand back down.
The Trace. He couldn't practice.
Damn!
......
The moon hung high. The Malfoy banquet had finally wound down.
Orion Apparated with Regulus back to 12 Grimmauld Place. The moment they stepped inside, Kreacher was at their side, bowing: "Master. Young Master. A late supper has been prepared."
The parlor hearth still burned. Kreacher had already laid the table — steaming cream-of-mushroom soup, truffle-gratinéed escargot, and fresh fruit tarts.
Regulus and Orion sat across from each other. A spoonful of the rich soup, and the cold melted instantly away.
Banquet food was pretty but never filling.