December has always been Dania's favorite. It was the last month of the year, when Autumn was finally transitioning into Winter, and the Holiday season comes steamrolling in.
The holidays were the biggest reason why she liked December so much. No matter where she was in the world, Denmark or the States, Dania could find magic and wonder all around her. In the red and green decorations that would spring up all around her and in the soft Christmas music lulled her into a sense of peace.
In San Francisco, Dania celebrated by going to the tree lighting ceremony at Union Square, shopping for presents and Christmas themed goodies at the mall, watching the Lighted Boat Parade at Pier 39, eating a crazy amount of chocolate from Ghirardelli if she gave in to the desire to splurge.
Her favorite thing to do was to go out at night to look at all of the houses with intricate holiday displays with her two roommates Maggie and Genevieve. They were the first Americans Dania had ever met during orientation in her freshman year of University. They had stuck together like glue since the first day, helping each other survive college and in Dania's case, helped her figure out how to live in a foreign country. Even after they all had graduated, the three of them had stayed close and eventually moved in together to survive San Francisco's ridiculously pricey housing market.
And it was absolutely worth it. They lived in a fairly small but nice apartment, in a nice neighborhood that just went all in for the Christmas season. Those houses were truly a sight to behold. With hedges and trees wrapped in multicolored lights; inflatable Santas, reindeer, and presents standing guard in the front lawns; blindingly bright christmas lights hanging from the edges of the roofs; and red, green, and white ribbons just thrown around everywhere. Dania loved fawning over all of the unique and interesting designs, and ranking them from best to greatest-of-all-time with her friends.
Then every year, on the Saturday before Christmas day, Dania would pack her carry-on bag and make the eleven hour journey from the American west coast to the capital of Denmark. She would always try her best to book a non-stop flight, but occasionally she'd have layovers. Stopping in Detroit, in Newark, in Boston, and even one time in London. Her parents always met her at the airport, ready and waiting to give her two big, warm hugs. Then they'd drive her to her childhood home through the frosty weather.
Christmas in Denmark meant working in the family business, when Dania and her parents doubled down in December to tackle the holiday rush at its peak. She'd spend her days arranging complex bouquets of flowers that she had carefully tailored to fit the aesthetic of the season. She'd run the cash register, answer phone calls, welcome customers, and help clean up the store when she could. It made the work load on her parents so much lighter, and Dania was happy to help if it meant that her parents got a well deserved break.
Then after a long day at the shop, Dania would help her parents close up and they would all go home to their little apartment a few blocks away. There she'd spend cold, snowy winter nights with her parents. They'd eat Æbleskiver topped with powdered sugar and jam, and wash it down with a warm mug of Gløgg. All while paper star lanterns hung above them from the ceiling, and the Christmas Calendar TV show playing on the TV in the background.
Dania was thoroughly convinced that December was the greatest time of the year.
Christmas of 1977 in the fictional town of Cokeworth, England was different from all of the other Christmases Dania had experienced. And not in a good way.
She felt nothing as she watched the house she was living in was transformed. None of the joy, none of the excitement, and none of the merriment that came with the Holiday season.
November turned into December, and as Christmas day approached like a gargantuan slug, Mr. and Mrs. Evans dove head-first into the deep end of the festive spirit.
Two whole stacks of boxes labeled 'Christmas' appeared in the first week of the final month of the year. Mrs. Evans had clambered into the attic that the family used as storage space, and pulled down everything that they owned that was related to the holiday. Which amounted to roughly six boxes and a wicker-basket filled to the brim with Christmas decorations of all kinds.
Every day, when Mr. Evans would come home from work, the two of them would band together and begin the preparations. Unpacking shimmering garlands, plastic reindeer figurines, pristine cardboard snowflakes, strings of Christmas lights, and delicate glass ornaments, just to name a few. The house turned into a genuine Christmas wonderland, like something out of a Christmas edition of one of Mr. Evans's clothing catalogs he got in the mail.
Mrs. Evans would rummage around one of the boxes, loudly gasp and bring one dainty hand to her cheek as she pulled out some handmade decoration whether it was a paper with macaroni art or a popsicle stick ornament, look over at Dania and say:
"Look, Tuni, look! Remember when you made this in primary school? Ooooh, you were so happy when you brought it home! Look, look, look here! It's the snowmen paper chains you made when you were ten!"
Or something along those lines.
And Dania would smile politely and nod, making noises of agreement to whatever Mrs. Evans said. But Dania had never made those crafts. She had never been a crafty person, not even when she was in Primary School. She had much preferred to help put up the decorations rather than making the decorations themselves.
Mr. Evans would busy himself with rearranging the house, moving furniture to accommodate the biggest Christmas tree that could fit in the living that he planned to buy. Whenever he moved the couch, moved the coffee table, or moved a lamp, he would look fondly at Dania and say:
"Remember when you and your sister would set your alarm clocks for four o'clock in the morning and jumping on your mother's and my bed to wake us up right before you two raced down the stairs to open presents?"
Or something along those lines.
Dania's heart would throb in pain, then she would laugh and tell him that she did remember. Only she didn't. She never woke up at four in the morning on Christmas to wake up her parents up before opening up presents. To Dania, Christmas was the time to take things slow, sleep in, relax, and then her family would open up presents right before the morning melted into the afternoon.
It hurt to look at the couple as they set about working on getting the house in order and preparing for the return of their daughter from Hogwarts. It hurt to see all of the decorations, half of which were still in the boxes, and the other half strewn about the room in organized chaos. It hurt to hear of all of these family traditions that Petunia was once a part of. Of the traditions that the real Petunia would never get to experience again.
It was miserable for Dania to see all of this Christmas cheer around her, but knowing that she didn't belong here. That the women who should have been here instead of her were not
The Evans didn't seem to notice. They didn't even seem to suspect that anything was amiss with Dania. If they did catch onto the fact that Dania had none of Petunia's memories, they never commented on it or even turned their attention to it.
And Dania would feel this strange combination of perpetual imposter syndrome as well as a dull nothingness that throbbed just underneath her skin.
They should have noticed something by now. They should have seen that Dania wasn't Petunia. That the girl who lived with them didn't have any actual childhood memories of their household. That she didn't know what they were talking about inside jokes and references that only a member of the Evans family would know. That their daughter was gone and in her place stood a stranger who spoke English like it was her second language and spent more time in the hospital than at home.
It should have become increasingly obvious when Dania couldn't share her own supposed 'treasured memories' of spending Christmas Eve in front of a roaring fire together with Lily. When she couldn't talk about last year's Christmas where Mr. Evans and Lily apparently started a neighborhood-wide snowball fight with the neighborhood children that was the talk of the town. When she couldn't even remember what spot the Christmas tree was supposed to go even though it was always placed in the same area every December for the last two and a half decades.
Any day now, her cover would be blown. Any day and they'll see her for what she truly was. A fraud. Mr. and Mrs. Evans should have realized that something was wrong with the woman that they thought was their daughter.
They didn't, and Dania couldn't fathom why. But she didn't dare say anything about it. She didn't even know how to begin to explain her circumstances.
But Dania didn't know how much longer she'd have a choice in the matter. The clock was ticking. Lily Evans was coming home.
Just thinking of the witch's name made Dania's stomach churn unpleasantly.
In a world where magic ran rampant on the fringes of the known society, where potions could physically transform you into someone else, Dania was under no illusion that she would last long under scrutiny. She was certain that the moment an honest-to-god witch laid eyes on her, Dania would be exposed.
So she stayed distant, and almost as a reflex, she cut her interactions with Mr. and Mrs. Evans down. Only as much as she could without tipping them off that she was actively trying to avoid them.
Dania didn't help them with their decorating. Instead, she watched from the sidelines.
She'd peer into the living room from her seat at the kitchen table as wreaths were delicately placed on each door in the house. As little bells were hung over the numerous framed pictures on the walls. As garlands were wrapped around the wooden railings of the stairs. As the evergreen tree was placed by the fireplace, and decorated with strings of golden Christmas lights and delicate silver ornaments.
The most Dania contributed was untangling the Christmas lights. Something she did in the safety of her room. Away from growing Christmas wonderland on the main floor of the house.
Then something changed.
At first, Dania was doing it out of the sense that she did not truly belong among the Evans couple during such an intimate family activity. But then it started getting harder and harder for her to push herself out of bed in the morning. It became harder for her to tolerate the bright Christmas lights that decorated the house inside and out. It became harder for her to keep her food down as the smell of nutmeg, ginger, cinnamon, and other spices associated with holiday pastries and cooking assaulted her from the kitchen.
It just kept getting worse and worse.
"Two more weeks until Lily comes home!" Mrs. Evans sang out as she waltzed around the living room. "Do you think she'd like to have some Yorkshire pudding as part of her first meal back? Because I think I ought to make some for my little Lily-flower."
Mr. Evans snorted, "Of course Lily would want pudding, she loves that stuff more than you like making it." Then he paused. "Are you alright, Petunia?" Mr. Evans asked in concern.
He stood by the front door near the bottom of the stairs. He was all dressed up to go to work, holding his suitcase in his hand, wearing his thick woolen coat, and a warm hat with ear flaps on his head.
Dania stood at the top of the stairs, looking down but not quite seeing the floor. One hand was pressed against the wall while the other clutched the rail. She could feel acid slowly creeping up her esophagus.
"Petunia?" Mrs. Evans asked, stepping over to stand by her husband. The happily carefree expression completely wiped away from her face.
"I'm fine," Dania said, her voice sounding raspy and unused. Then she quickly shut her mouth as her stomach suddenly felt like it was caving in on itself. Her health was getting worse. Dania hadn't felt this bad since she first came back from the hospital back in September.
Mr. Evans did not look convinced. "You are not fine. You don't even look like you can make it down the stairs in that state."
"I can." Dania insisted. Then she took a wobbly step forward, then another. Then another. Then another.
And then Dania saw a burst of bright light flood her vision on the fifth step down and she lost consciousness.
Dania was later told in the hospital that she had been saved from getting a severe concussion only because Mr. Evans was there to catch her as she fell down the stairs. Once she woke up, her doctors decided that it would be best that she stays there for a few days while she recovered, incase there were any unforeseen complications in her delicate state.
And the hospitalization did help. Dania got the nutrients that she lacked through an I.V., and she was under the attentive care of a small army of nurses. At the very least, Dania's digestive issues were more or less cleared up by the time she was deemed healthy enough to return to the Evans home.
For about a week, Dania felt great. Better than she had since December had begun. Whatever stomach bug she had caught was gone, and she could return to her established routine.
But then the day had come. When Lily Evans was to come home with her new boyfriend. Things only got worse for Dania.
Mr. Evans had left for London. His destination: Kings Cross Railway Station.
The final preparations were on their way. Mrs. Evans was furiously moving around the kitchen, running from one end to the other, preparing a massive 'Welcome home' dinner for her returning daughter.
Dania had been shooed away from the kitchen, partially so that Mrs. Evans didn't trip over her in her cooking whirlwind, and partly so that Dania could work on setting the table.
"I've already put all of the plates, bowls, cutlery, and napkins that we'll need on the chairs," Mrs. Evans said with a gentle nudge into the dining room. "All you have to do is organize it and make it pretty for Lily and her boyfriend!"
Dania grimaced involuntarily as a bolt of pain shot through the back of her head. "Alright, but I don't think I'll be able to make it 'pretty.'"
"That's alright Tuni-dear," Mrs. Evans reassured her, "As long as-
"-the forks go on the left side of the dinner plate, and the knives and spoons go on the right side," Dania finished, having heard this spiel more times than she cared to count. Mrs. Evans gave her a big, bold smile.
"Very good! As long as you do that, you are granted complete creative freedom! Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to take the turkey out of the oven!" And with that, Mrs. Evans disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Dania by herself in the adjacent dining room.
And Dania was stuck. The woman couldn't make herself move forward and get to work.
She couldn't make herself pick up the folded red and gold table cloth and properly lay it out on the table. She couldn't make herself arrange the five dinner plates by each chair. She couldn't make herself set the silverware out, exactly how Mrs. Evans liked.
Dania just. Couldn't find it in herself to make her feet move. Just the thought of having to do anything made her ever-persistent headache worse.
She didn't know why the thought of setting the table for this particular evening made her feel so reluctant and heavy. This was something that she did on a nightly basis. It was one of the few tasks that Dania was allowed to do so long as she wasn't completely bed-ridden or in the hospital again.
The woman stood still and stiff as she stared down at the stack of plates. What was so different about this? Was it because of Lily-
A chill ran down Dania's spine. It shook her out of her frozen state and caused her to absentmindedly rub her right forearm to bring a little bit of warmth back to it.
Was it because Lily was going to arrive soon with James? Why did that matter? This was just getting absolutely ridiculous at this point.
Dania gritted her teeth together and glanced at the wall clock hanging on the opposite wall. If she concentrated hard enough, she could even hear the soft ticking noise the clock produced over the sound of the beater spinning, the pots clattering, and Mrs. Evans's loud rendition of 'Jingle Bells' that flooded the house.
One more hour until Mr. Evans was expected to return. Dania still had some time. She could do this. And with a deep breath, Dania forced herself to walk to the end of the table. She grabbed hold of the table cloth and began to do her part in the preparations for the night's feast.
It didn't take long before she was lost in the rhythmic work. She'd set this table so many times before, it was easy to melt back into the routine. Other than the fact that she was setting out plates for two additional people, and that Dania was handling Mrs. Evans's special dining set that only came out for special occasions, it was as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
Dania was putting down the last wine glass when she felt her skin prickle on the back of her neck. Dread pooled in her stomach. She looked up and caught sight of a flash of bright red that shone vibrantly against the dark night through the window.
The dread sloshed around within her, swirling and twisting around until she felt nauseous. Her breath suddenly came up too short, too shallow, and she couldn't get enough air to fill her lungs fast enough. The sounds of Mrs. Evans moving around the kitchen were drowned out by a shrill ring that echoed in Dania's ears. Tiny white, grey, and black squiggles erupted in her vision, dancing around as her head felt light enough to simply float away from her shoulders the moment a soft breeze brushed against her.
Her head was pounding. Like a freight train had smashed right through her mind.
Dania started swaying, and she was vaguely aware that her hand shot out and grabbed the nearest chair to stabilize herself. As the woman took several desperately deep breaths, she lowered herself to sit down.
There were muffled murmurs from outside. Three knocks. A jingle of keys. A yelp of delight from the kitchen. And a painful stab through Dania's brain.
The door opened.
Author's Note:
Ok, this update is late. Really late. And I apologize for that. I kind of stopped writing for a while, and I've only just gotten back into writing during the month of October. For the last couple of weeks I've been working on other projects including several One-Shots, and a new multi chaptered fic, and of course this story. At first I wanted to get the entire dinner scene with Lily and James out of the way in this chapter but then I realized that there was just too much going on to adequately cover in less than 4,000 words, so I split it into two chapters. But hey, the good news is that the next chapter is more than halfway done, so there shouldn't be another eight month break between updates.
And seriously, thank you guys for all of the positive comments, favorites, and follows. It really means a lot to know that you all are enjoying my work.
Until next time!
~Lost-In-The-Muse