Sirius glared at his hands as he rubbed them together. Why in hell did his hands get so cold when writing? Bloody transfiguration essay. Sighing in annoyance, he picks up his quill and begins to write again. He knew it was something that ran in the family. His father always has cold hands, and his grandfather, and the man before that, and it just kept up.
"How's the essay, Pads?" James asks.
Sirius shrugs, "Could be worse. I'd like it a whole lot more if my hands would stop being so damn cold."
James frowns. He knows how cold Sirius's hands get. They get to the point sometimes where Padfoot could scoop up a bit of snow and the snow would feel warm. Walking from the table, James goes up to their dorm and pulls out a cup and some coco. As normal as it is, holding something warm typically would warm up the boy's hands. However he was entirely too stubborn to do anything about it. Chuckling, James finishes making the coco, including a cup for himself, and heads back downstairs and sets the cup in front of the dog animagus.
"Here, warm up your hands before we have to take you to Pomfrey," James says, giving a smirk at his friend's scowl.
Sirius grabs the cup with his left hand and finishes his essay with his right. Once the quill is on the table, both hands are wrapped around the cup. James sits opposite of Sirius, thinking about one of the pranks they were working on and the minor problem they were having with the timing.
"Hey James?" James looks up at Sirius, who smiles, "Thanks."
James gives a grin back, "Anytime Pads."
AN/ My shortest writing ever on this site. Just a really quick scene between the head Marauders.