The mansion was called Llywelyn Hall, it was an old, abandoned, 17th century building with vines hanging low on its dark stone walls.
It had an coldness around itself which even the unbearable heat of this very bright July day couldn't melt away.
Anyone in the small village of Godric's Hallow could confirm that the mansion and its unkempt grounds were still inhabited.
Alas, the Evans family knew nothing of those circumstances.
Their real-estate agent, Mundungus Fletcher, boasted on this house as if it was Buckingham Palace or something.
"You've got to be kidding me." Petunia wrinkled her nose in distaste 'I'm most certainly not going to live in this hovel! What will my friends think of me! Imagine Vernon picking me up from here' she shuddered at the thought of her boyfriend Vernon Dursley seeing her in this disposition .
'That's quite enough Petunia dear' Mrs Evans smiled at her daughter, albeit her smile didn't reach her eyes 'with a little love and care this house is going to be a jewel!'
Petunia scowled shoving her suitcase closer to her lean form as Mrs Evans hugged her gently.
'Now, now Tuney… you know we can't offer the house anymore… it's hard, but we'll manage my dear, after all we're Evans women and Evans woman are though."
'I suppose your right mother' Petunia mumbled stiffly, starring above the head of the small woman who was still hugging her, she would have to spend more time with the Dursleys then which wasn't a bad thing at all, Vernon was very forward.
Mrs Evans frowned trying to ignore her daughters stiffness, when did she become mother instead of mum? The Dursley's most certainly had an influence on her little Tuney.
After Mr Evans had passed away a few months ago, Petunia would spend even more time with that Vernon boy, if this was a good thing Mrs Evans couldn't tell, nevertheless he made Tuney happy in this hard time and that was doubtlessly a good thing.
'Where is your sister Tuney?' she let go of daughter and looked around.
'I have no idea were the little freak is' Petunia narrowed her eyes 'perhaps she's dancing naked on the cemetry with demons and doing voddoo stuff' she added with an spiteful smirk.
Mrs Evans wasn't in the mood to discuss with her daughter "Petunia! Stop badmouthing your sister!" she scolded .
Lily Evans, was in fact not dancing with demons or howsoever she was currently sitting on a rusted garden chair fanning her sweaty red face with a book - 'Wuthering heights' - which wasn't really efective but better than nothing.
The story line was getting quite dull at the moment to be honest, Heathcliff was an utter prat to Catherine and she in return, was an sadistic, shallow bitch.
Jane Austen was far better, but she promised her friend Mary MacDonald to read the book.
She missed Mary dearly and couldn't wait to see her again so they could attend another lesson with Mrs Figg.
The manison looked like a smaller, more mysterious version of Mansfield Park, although lager than Lily had expected...