"Elara, come back inside sweetheart. It's much too cold out," Draco said, placing a hand on his daughter's small shoulder.
She was looking up into the stars, white puffs of breath visible in regular intervals, a knit sock cap barely containing her riotous, blonde curls.
"I can't, Daddy, I'm waiting."
He could feel her shiver beneath his hand, even as she spoke.
"Waiting for what exactly?" he prompted.
"Snow," she said, shooting him a glance that only a four year old could delivery so expertly. Her expression simple and innocent, while showing concern for the uninformed adult. It was one Draco found he was becoming accustomed to.
He looked upwards at the cloudless sky and frowned. There would be no snow for Elara to see tonight.
"I'm not sure you'll see much snow tonight," he began slowly, hating to dash her hopes, but needing to guide her back into the warmth of the house.
She spun quickly to face him, concern creeping into her voice. "But it's Christmas Eve! It always snows on Christmas in the books Papa and Grammy read to me!"
"I'm sorry, love. Why don't we go back inside and see if mummy has the cookies ready? I bet Santa wouldn't mind sharing one with you."
He was surprised when she conceded without much prompting and followed him into the house. After her promised cookie, Elara carefully arranged Santa's plate next to her letter. Draco led her up the stairs to her bedroom to where Hermione was waiting to help her ready for bed and choose a book.
Draco watched from the doorway as his wife took her turn humoring Elara. Their eyes met as she looked up and winked at him, silently laughing at the silly story. He couldn't quite fathom why he was so lucky, after all the bad in his life, to have such a wonderful family.
When she finished, Draco carefully and secretly removed his wand from his belt and whispered an incantation. As he pulled the door shut behind them, he looked over his shoulder at his baby, watching wide-eyed as large, glimmering snowflakes fell noiselessly above her.