The snow was falling in delicate, swirling flurries outside the window, blanketing the world in soft white. Inside, the crackling warmth of the fire cast flickering shadows on the walls of the cosy living room. The scent of cinnamon and pine lingered in the air, and a faint glow from the Christmas tree illuminated the room, casting a soft light over everything it touched.
Hermione Granger, now Hermione Malfoy, smiled as she adjusted the snow-dusted cloak draped over her shoulders. The winter season had always held a certain magic for her, but this year, with Draco by her side, everything felt even more enchanting. The years since the war had been filled with challenges, growth, and, ultimately, love. Their marriage had started in quiet simplicity, but the connection they shared was anything but ordinary.
She glanced at Draco, who sat on the plush armchair near the fireplace, a half-empty glass of firewhisky in his hand. His platinum blonde hair was slightly tousled, a few strands falling into his grey eyes, which sparkled with that familiar mischievous glint. His face, though often stoic in public, was softened in the intimacy of their home, especially in moments like this—when the world outside was frozen, and the only thing that mattered was the warmth they gave one another.
“You know,” Hermione said, walking over to him, “I think we should go out for a walk later. The snow looks perfect for it.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a half-smile. “I’m surprised you’re suggesting a walk. Last year, you complained about the cold for days before even stepping outside.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. “I’ve come to appreciate winter,” she said, sitting beside him. “Especially now that we can enjoy it together. There’s something about the snow, the stillness… It’s like the world pauses for a moment.”
Draco’s gaze softened as he set down his glass and took her hand in his. His touch was always warm, as though he were trying to transfer a little of his own heat to her. “I love how you find beauty in everything, Granger,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a tone of admiration she hadn’t heard in years.
She turned to face him fully, a playful glint in her eyes. “Are you complimenting me, Malfoy? I thought you hated when I made everything sound poetic.”
He snorted, leaning closer. “I may have once thought your ‘poetry’ was nauseating, but I’ve come to realize it’s part of who you are. And that’s…” He hesitated, a rare vulnerability flickering across his features. “It’s one of the reasons I married you.”
Hermione’s heart fluttered. She had always known there were layers to Draco, layers he had spent years hiding behind walls of arrogance and cynicism. But those walls had come down over time, brick by brick, until the man she saw before her now was someone she could never have imagined when they first met as enemies at Hogwarts.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Draco,” she said softly, her hand resting over his heart. “I suppose I should have known that all along.”
The silence between them wasn’t awkward, but comfortable—a quiet understanding shared by two people who had once been enemies, then allies, and now something far more intimate. Something beautiful.
Draco kissed her gently on the forehead before standing up, extending a hand to her. “Shall we then? I believe you promised me a walk.”
Hermione grinned, taking his hand. “I did, didn’t I? Let’s go, then. We’ll make snow angels and drink hot cocoa when we return.”
Draco’s lips twitched in a smile, and for a moment, he seemed to forget his usual cool composure, allowing himself to be swept away by the simple joy of the moment. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to snow angels.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll make the best snow angel. You have the grace for it.”
“I have grace?” he mocked, but there was no bite to his words. “I’m more likely to get buried in the snow than to make something graceful.”
She laughed, squeezing his hand as they walked toward the door. “I’m sure it’ll be perfect.”
The door creaked open, and the cold air hit them with a crisp bite. They stepped outside, the world before them a shimmering wonderland. The snow fell in soft layers, coating everything in a blanket of white. Hermione breathed in deeply, the cool air a stark contrast to the warmth of their home, and yet it was just as comforting.
She looked up at Draco, his face illuminated by the moonlight and the soft glow of the snowflakes dancing around him. His usual smirk had softened into a smile, the first true sign of contentment she’d seen on him all evening.
“Ready for our walk, Mr. Malfoy?” Hermione teased.
He gave her a mock serious look. “Lead the way, Mrs. Malfoy.”
With her hand in his, they walked together through the snow, their footsteps leaving traces in the untouched ground, a mark of their shared existence in a world that had been rebuilt from the ashes of the past. The cold didn’t matter. The snow didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was this moment, and the love they had fought so hard to build.
And for the first time in a long while, Draco Malfoy—former Death Eater, son of a dark wizard—felt at peace. In the midst of winter’s chill, he had found warmth. He had found home.
With Hermione by his side, he knew he would never be lost again.