It's just a matter of interpretation.

There's a teey, tiny, barely-there amount of snow ont he ground. It's cold enough that it won't melt. Now all we need here is a bit more red around the house - like a curtain or something, a throw pillow, god knows - and a christmas tree. Preferrably being decorated to the tunes of "Jul i folkton". Then I'm good.

"It's got pictures in the back," Harry said slyly, leafing through the moving diagrams.
"Dark magic and porn. This is the best Christmas ever."

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