Disclaimer: I do not own rights to Harry Potter. All characters and related material belong to J.K. Rowling.  This is for entertainment purposes only, no money is being made.

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Yule

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spectrosilver

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            It was so cold outside that day.  Numbing, tingling coldness that bit at their ears.  Her scarf was pulled tight, his was loose and limp.  They both wore heavy black cloaks that stood out against the white.  The white, white world that surrounded them.   The lifeless colour of white. The hard, cold colour of nothingness all around.

            "I suppose this is Happy Christmas, then."  She said as she looked at her hands, frozen in the winter chill.  "I doubt tomorrow I'll even see you, with your friends, and all my friends, of course, so-"

            "Parkinson, will you shut your mouth for a moment."  She frowned, aggravated by his remark.  He looked at her face, so cold like the snow.  "I just-"

            "No, it's alright."  She said, as snowflakes fell around them.  They walked, in silence, along the icy stone path.  The snowflakes glowed intensely in her ebony hair.

            "You're going home tomorrow, aren't you?"  He asked while his eyes were still focused on the path in front of them.

            "Yes, unfortunately.  How about you?"

            "Yes."  His voice was dull.  Toneless.  White.  They walked further, her numb hand slipping into his.  "As much as I'd love to escape teachers, and people here," he paused, stopping his stride and looking into her eyes, "I can't help but think how nice a warm Yule log sounds."

            "Watching the blaze devour the log, the golden ember crackle?"  She laughed bitterly.  "Yes, I had the same thought.  Unfortunately, the Parkinson household keeps all the fireplaces empty."

            "As does the Manor." His grey eyes, so close to being white but not, looked up to the sky.  "It's getting late.  We should be heading back, I think.  The train comes early and-"

            "Yes, that sounds good." 

            "You know, you can always owl me, Parkinson.  I'm just down the street."  His hand grasped hers tighter as the wind picked up pace.  They were nearing the entrance again.

            "I know."  Smoke was leaking out of the castle, which was illuminated with miniature lights.  They walked inside, instantly warmed by the scent of gingerbread and warm Christmas fire.

            "Happy Christmas, Parkinson."

            "Happy Christmas, Draco."

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