written for the may event at Hogwarts
Ron, aged seven, shivered as his foot touched the cold floor, carefully wrapping his blanket around him. It was the dead of winter, and even the holidays couldn't keep out the chill permeating through the house.
He quietly padded down the stairs, making sure to skip that one squeaky step, and peered out the living room window. No snow— not yet, but on the window there were tiny ice crystals that had formed in the night.
Ron raised his finger and in three swift motions, drew a smiley face.
By the end of the day, there were nine of them.