Lilia curled up in the soft corner of the sofa like a small wounded animal.
The sunlight outside was bright, casting a warm golden glow across the carpet, yet the light seemed to skirt around her, casting a small, dim shadow in her immediate vicinity.
She couldn't study magic.
That thought weighed heavily on her heart, making even breathing feel like an effort.
Her grandfather's sigh was soft but clear, reaching her ears with unmistakable concern. He paused in polishing the silver candlestick, and the eyes that were usually full of laughter now showed nothing but heartfelt worry. He looked at his little granddaughter, at her lowered eyes hidden beneath thick lashes, at her tightly pressed, bloodless lips.
Silence stretched through the living room.
He wanted to say something, but he knew that any words of comfort would seem pale and powerless at this moment.
In the end, he simply shook his head, set down the velvet cloth in his hand, and turned toward his study with steady footsteps.
The study door closed softly behind him, cutting off the light from the living room and, for the moment, the heavy atmosphere as well.
Lilia didn't lift her head. She only listened to the sound of the door opening and closing. She assumed her grandfather had gone to busy himself with other matters, which made the small pang of grievance in her heart resurface quietly.
A moment later, the door opened again.
Her grandfather returned, carefully holding something in his arms.
It was a hardcover diary, showing its age. The edges of the dark brown cover were worn and curled, revealing the yellowed cardboard beneath. Several deep scratches ran across the cover, telling the story of its long years.
He didn't speak, walking straight to the sofa and sitting beside Lilia. The sofa sank slightly under his weight, and her small body instinctively leaned closer to him.
"Lilia, my little princess," he said, his voice carrying the unique warmth and love of age. He reached out his large, wrinkled, yet warm and dry hand to gently brush her soft hair.
"Come, take a look at this."
With his other hand, he placed the ancient diary on Lilia's lap.
"This belonged to your witch aunt, Liliana, when she was young—a diary she kept herself."
Aunt Liliana!
At the mention of the name, a glimmer of light returned to Lilia's eyes. She immediately sat up straighter, her heart racing.
A diary of a real witch!
In her imagination, it must contain countless thrilling adventures. Perhaps her aunt once battled an eight-eyed giant spider in the Dark Forest, or rode a flying broom past a fire-breathing Hungarian Horntail. Perhaps it even contained a long-lost map to a mysterious ancient tomb!
However, as her grandfather carefully turned the fragile, yellowed pages with his fingertip, a scent of old paper and dry dust wafted up.
He began reading aloud softly.
His voice wasn't loud, but it was like a fire in a winter hearth, dispelling her gloom.
The stories she heard were completely unexpected.
There were no dragons, no ancient tombs, no life-or-death duels with dark wizards. The neat, slightly faded handwriting recorded trivial, childlike daily moments.
It was the secret little magic her powerful witch aunt used in the Muggle world.
"…March 3rd, sunny."
Her grandfather paused, as if deciphering the slightly blurred handwriting.
[Today, Mom made me clean the attic again. My goodness, the dust there was thicker than the London fog! I truly doubt anyone has gone up there in a hundred years. I secretly used a little "Clean Everything" spell, and the white light at my wand tip swept away all the dust and cobwebs in just one minute! When Mom came to check, her eyes went wide. She even hugged me and kissed my forehead, praising me for growing up and becoming so diligent. I proudly smiled the entire afternoon, feeling marvelous…]
Lilia couldn't help but curl her lips into a smile. She could imagine a little girl, about her age, hiding behind a door and giggling, covering her mouth.
Her grandfather turned the page; the paper made a soft rustling sound.
"…January 12th, rainy."
[The weather is so cold. The icy rain taps against the window. This morning Dad wanted a cup of hot milk, but the fire in the fireplace wasn't lit yet, and the kitchen was as cold as an ice cellar. I saw him frown at the cold cup. So, when he wasn't looking, I hid behind the door and silently cast a "Heat" spell on the cup. I saw a wisp of white steam curling up from the milk…]
[Watching him sip the hot milk, his eyes squinting in satisfaction, letting out a long breath, I felt like a super-hero protecting my family…]
Lilia's heart was gently touched by these warm words. She realized that powerful magic could also be used for these—these small, lovely, and heartwarming things.
In the latter part of the diary, the ink changed color, and the handwriting became more mature and a bit messy.
Her grandfather explained that this part was written after her aunt had married into the magical world.
However, between the lines, there was no longer the joy and pride of successfully pulling pranks. Instead, it was filled with a deep, unshakable nostalgia.
"…Everything in the magical world is wonderful. Flying brooms are much faster than cars, people in photos can smile and wink at you, and the fairy-baked cupcakes even dance on their own. Yet, I've begun to miss the days when Dad drove that old Ford that always broke down halfway, taking us on picnics by the seaside. I remember the radio crackling in the car, and the sea breeze messing up Mom's hair…
"…I still remember Mom's apple pie. Though not as delicate as the ones made by house-elves and without any magic to enhance the flavor, it carried the sweetness of the apples under the sun and, more importantly, Mom's love…"
Her grandfather's voice gradually softened, and finally, he gently closed the diary.
He didn't speak, but with his eyes, full of wisdom and warmth, he quietly looked at Lilia, who was completely absorbed in the stories.
"Do you see, child?"
He finally spoke, his voice even gentler than before.
"Magic is indeed amazing, but it is only a part of life, not the whole. What truly brings us happiness is life itself, and the family around us.
"Your aunt may have been a powerful witch, but the moments she cherished the most were still those ordinary times spent with family members who couldn't perform magic."
This diary, these words, were like a beam of real, warm sunlight, piercing through layers of gloom and finally illuminating Lilia's heart, which had grown gray from disappointment.
She lifted her head, looking at the love in her grandfather's eyes, and thought of her own feelings about Hogwarts.
She suddenly understood.
Even though she and her brother lived in two completely different worlds—one in the Muggle world, one in the magical world—they shared the same bond of family love.
That kind of love was far more magical than any spell and could never be replaced by any form of magic.
Her heart, because of this understanding, finally felt lighter and warmer.
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