the world is slowly getting whiter, and your feet are slowly getting colder. it's absolutely freezing in the living room and with your phenomenal luck you'll probably have caught a fever by the time the owl comes with your issue of the daily prophet.
then a blanket falls around your shoulders and you're encircled by those strong arms and buried in the familiar scent of soap and something that reminds you of cinnamon but isn't cinnamon.
"i got cold", he mumbles in your ear and his voice is sending shivers down your spine. "come back to bed?"
you lean back against his chest and does not look up but continue to watch the world getting whiter and whiter with every breath. his grip around you tightens, and he buries his nose in your hair.
whether it's minutes, hours or mere seconds later you don't know, but when the snowflakes' falling speed decreases you turn around in his embrace, breathe in his scent and says
"warm me up."
and he does.
*
you spend new year's eve with his family at his parents' house. it's a big family and you love them all, but ten to twelve finds you alone in the snow-covered garden, laying on a bench and watching the stars.
"hi." he sits down on the ground, beside your head. you turn to look at him and finds him breathtaking with fresh snowflakes in his eyelashes and stars reflecting in his eyes.
"you didn't…" you begin, but he cuts you off with a simple
"i want to."
you hear screams and shouts and watch the fireworks when one year turns into another but neither of you move. you're both wearing heavy cloaks and while it's several degrees below zero, there's just a bitter cold in the air, quite like the one that creeps into your living room at night.
he's wearing mittens and when he suddenly moves and begins to search for something in his pockets he fumbles for quite a bit before he finally bites of one of the mittens and reaches into his pocket. he withdraws a small box and although you don't know you have a pretty qualified guess and your breath gets stuck in your throat.
he opens the box and in a heartbeat your arms are around his neck and you're saying yesyesyes all over again while tears of joy trickle down your cheeks.
*
it's saturday and it's raining outside and everything is quite dull. last night is all over the prophet but you didn't really expect anything else so you just take to admire his smile in the pictures until he comes out from the bathroom, freshly showered. he pours a glass of milk, grabs a bunch of toasts and smiles at you.
"morning, honey."
and the rain doesn't stop but at least you have your own sun in the kitchen.
*
you can feel him looking at you and soon, soon… yes there's the touch to your forehead you were expecting. your eyes flutter and your vision is blurry but you've seen him so many times that it doesn't matter. you see the smile on his lips, but just barely, and you smile back.
"it could've been neville, y'now?" you whisper drowsily. he nods, and traces your scar with his fingertip.
"i know", he whispers back, then leans down to kiss your cheek. "but it's you. and i love you. happy birthday."
"twenty-five, huh? never would've thought…"
"i hoped. happy birthday", he repeats, then leans down once more to kiss you fully, on the mouth.
~fin