Reborn as Petunia Evans with a System

Our trip to Switzerland was like stepping into a snow globe. The world outside the frosted train windows had been beautiful, yes, but when we finally arrived stepping out of the station and into the high-altitude air it was something else entirely. The mountains loomed in the distance, jagged and white against a pale blue sky, their peaks kissed by drifting clouds. The village we stayed in was small and storybook-perfect, with wooden chalets lining narrow streets and strings of golden fairy lights twinkling above every door.

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Our parents had rented a cabin tucked just outside the town, nestled in a thicket of pine trees that were heavy with snow. It had wide windows, creaky floors, and a fireplace that crackled from the moment we arrived until the moment we left. Inside, it smelled of pine, cinnamon, and the faint trace of peppermint Mum had tucked into every corner like a personal touch.

Lily and I claimed the loft bedroom an airy space with slanted ceilings and matching wool blankets folded neatly at the ends of our beds. We tossed our things down and raced back downstairs, eager to help decorate the cabin.

Dad had already started hauling out the decorations from a few boxes he'd brought. The tree was already set up in the corner of the living room, tall and slightly crooked as Mum had warned, leaning ever so slightly to the left despite their best efforts. It didn't matter though. It was beautiful. just like everything in Switzerland.

Mum put on a Christmas record, something jazzy and a little whimsical, and we got to work. Lily and I took turns standing on the ottoman to drape the garlands around the tree while Dad handed us baubles and ornaments some from home, others new and unfamiliar but charming in their own rustic way. Tiny carved reindeer. Silver stars. A little sled made of real twigs.

Later, we strung lights along the banisters and over the mantelpiece, where Mum hung our stockings mine and Lily's in red and green wool, and one for each of our parents, too. I caught myself smiling so much my cheeks started to ache.

By the time Yule morning arrived, the entire cabin was wrapped in soft, magical light.

I woke to the smell of cinnamon rolls baking and the gentle hush of snow outside. Lily was already up, her face pressed to the window, eyes wide with wonder.

"Everything's covered," she whispered. "Even the fence posts look like cupcakes."

Downstairs, the tree glittered softly in the early light. A mountain of gifts waited underneath, piled high in a patchwork of bright paper and curling ribbon. Mum and Dad, true to form, had gone a little overboard. I think I counted more than fifteen gifts just for me though Lily was probably in the same boat. They'd never really learned how to do things by halves, and I loved them all the more for it.

Breakfast was light just cocoa and warm buns before we all settled down by the fire to begin unwrapping. There was laughter, rustling paper, exclamations of surprise and delight as we took turns opening each gift.

Mum got a pair of hand-knitted mittens from Lily, navy blue with tiny white stars stitched into them. Dad received a self-stirring mug enchanted by Lily and me over the summer he howled with laughter when it actually worked.

I opened Lily's gift next a notebook bound in deep blue leather, the kind that glimmered slightly when tilted in the light. She'd inscribed the inside cover with a simple line in her neat handwriting For your ideas, your dreams, Love always.

Then I turned to the pile from my friends. Each one felt like a thread tying me back to the magical world I'd left just days ago.

Severus's gift was small but heavy, wrapped in black paper with a silver ribbon. Inside was a pendant oval, delicate, made of silvery metal that shimmered with an almost moonstone quality. When I opened the locket, my breath caught. There, inside, was a tiny, moving photograph of the two of us standing by the Black Lake, laughing at something I no longer remembered but could feel in my chest. Opposite it was a second image, smaller and arranged like a little collage: Emmeline, Feliz and Andrew grinning Pandora wearing glittering fairy lights like a crown.

I pressed my thumb over the hinge gently, marveling at how it felt warm in my hand. Thoughtful. Personal. Beautiful.

Pandora's gift came next. Hers was... whimsical. Of course it was. She'd sent me a set of enchanted paintbrushes that created light patterns instead of strokes when I dipped one into the accompanying bottle, it swirled with a glowing mist and danced through the air like ink suspended in water. "For when you need to sketch your dreams," her note read. "Or write spells in the dark."

Emmeline, ever the practical one, had given me something she called a "Winter Witch's Survival Kit." Inside were tiny vials of pepper-up potion, instant-warming charms, chocolate bars, and a fold-out wool blanket enchanted to repel snow and wet. I laughed so hard I cried.

From Felix came a sleek, leather-bound book of rare potion theories, annotated in the margins with his own opinions, corrections, and occasional doodles of cauldrons exploding. Andrew's gift was more personal a photo album full of picture of our group . "For when you miss us too much," his note said, followed by a poorly drawn smiley face.

And then there was Sirius's gift.

It was wrapped in matte black with silver trim, unmistakably elegant. I hesitated before opening it. I peeled the paper back slowly, careful not to tear it. Inside was a small, velvet box, and nestled within was a pair of earrings shaped like delicate snowflakes, each one adorned with tiny, shimmering stones that caught the light like stars.

They were exquisite. Dainty and ethereal, the kind of thing you'd find in a goblin-run jeweler's shop in Diagon Alley, not from a schoolboy.

I stared at them for a long time, turning them over in my hand, wondering just how much they must've cost. Sirius Black, for all his rebellious airs, still came from one of the richest wizarding families in Britain. I didn't want to assume but the extravagance of the gift made my throat tighten with something like awe and guilt mixed into one.

I made a silent promise to thank him properly. Later.

When the last of the wrapping paper had been cleared away and our gifts admired and tucked safely into corners of the room, we gathered around the fireplace. Mum passed out steaming mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows that melted instantly, and Dad began telling one of his long, rambling holiday stories that never quite made sense but always made us laugh.

There was something warm and weightless about the moment. The kind of peace that settles over you when you know you are loved, when the fire crackles just right, and your feet are tucked beneath a blanket with your sister beside you and your parents humming along to some old Christmas tune.

I found myself watching them Mum with her smile that crinkled at the corners, Dad's loud chuckle, Lily's eyes full of light and thought, not for the first time, that I was lucky. Not just in a passing way. But deeply, achingly lucky.

In my past life, I'd been alone. No family. No memories of laughter like this. I'd often wondered what it might be like to feel part of something bigger than myself. Now, here, wrapped in warmth and the smell of pine and sugar, I knew.

This was love. This was family. And I was grateful so deeply grateful I could hardly breathe.

We stayed like that for hours. Just telling stories, singing old carols half-remembered , and letting time drift softly around us like snow outside the window. The world had quieted. There were no essays, no looming danger, no secrets to keep just the four of us and the magic of being together.

And as the sun dipped behind the mountains and cast long shadows across the snow, I felt it settle in my bones: joy. Pure, unfiltered, and real.

This was a Yule I would never forget.