Searing Snow

Ginny huffed and puffed into her homemade mitts, swearing under her breath and making her way through the knee-deep snow with much effort. What was that damn ferret thinking?

To understand what Draco the bouncing ferret had done to deserve such cussing on Ginny’s part, perhaps we should turn first to a curious incident that took place earlier that morning.

It was the first morning after Christmas. Amid the pile of presents Ginny had received, there was one peculiar parcel. As flat as a parchment, it was icy to the touch and revealed, after being opened, a single note. On it was neatly scribbled, in a gracefully cursive form, the words “Three Broomsticks” and nothing else. It had definitely been sent by Draco. No sane person would ever use for such petty purpose the parchment that cost 3 galleons apiece. She tried to ignore it at first by placing it in the waistpocket of her cloak, but the note seemed to have been charmed to burn into her sides whenever her thoughts took a perverse turn. There was no use trying to rid herself of it, moreover, for from the moment she held it up, it clung to her as an icicle would to an eave.

Anyhow, there she was, scuttling over to Hogsmeade, while the snow was churned to slime at her feet. There was no exact time as to the rendezvous, no further instructions whatsoever, but Ginny rushed out of the castle as soon as she could get rid of Ron and Harry. The latter had taken a sudden liking to her over the summer, but why should she care? A guy deserves only so many chances, and over the course of four years she had given him more than was fair. Though Ginny loathed to admit it, she hadn’t gotten over Harry simply because she was tired of waiting. No. The main reason happened to be… Well, the main reason ought to be in the Three Broomsticks, which was just a quarter of a mile’s walk away.

“Nah miss, you can’t go in there.” A sorry-looking old man stopped her on her way. It was the shortest path through a meadow to Hogsmeade, but apparently someone had taken the liberty to blockade it.

Ginny was furious. First the enigmatic note, now this! She tried to calm down by rehearsing the Bat-Bogey Hex in her mind over and over with a certain ferret at its receiving end. Draco was going to have a hard time getting out of this.

The storm picked up. Swirling sheets of snow enveloped her, brushing past her cheeks with their blunt hexagonal edges until they stung. Deprived of her shortcut, it was another mile between her and the blazing fireplaces of the wizard’s pub.

By the time she crossed the steps leading into the Three Broomsticks, Ginny was quite numb with the cold. The snow, which had been clinging on to every inch of bare skin and every strand of flaming hair as it hardened into ice, now took to melting in the heated place and produced a weird, burning sensation. She was now seriously worried about frostbite.

Curious though it may be, the Three Broomsticks was deserted at this time of the day, sans customer, sans order, sans bartender. And yet there was a fire burning merrily as if it had only just been stoked. Glancing around, Ginny felt startled and not a little puzzled. If this was a hoax to cheat her out of a merry Christmas morning, then someone was going to pay dearly for it. In fact, she was getting quite petulant and ready to hex the first person in sight when the flame flickered in the fireplace and another piece of 3-galleon parchment fluttered out of it. “Why not join me upstairs, love?”

She had never known the Three Broomsticks to have an “upstairs” before, but if it meant she could hex the amazing bouncing ferret to her heart’s content, Ginny couldn’t care less, even if she were to ascend to some mysterious loft to do it.

The “upstairs”, however, turned out to be a dimly-lit corridor lined on either side by rooms. There at the very end was a door, kept ajar and from which was projected on the floor a telltale shadow of a lean young man. Ginny covered the distance in a matter of sprints and burst through the door.

“Protego!”

“Bat Bogey Hex!”

Apparently he had beaten Ginny to the spell-casting, for there Draco was, seated on a flannel armchair, wearing that same smug smile that could always get Potter’s goat but was nothing short of fascinating to Ginny. After all, none else than a Malfoy could smirk and still manage to appear sophisticated at the same time.

“You stinking git of a ferret!” Ginny squealed, despite a wave of relief and happiness that washed through her---he was there.

Draco, however, was most imperturbable. “You’re late, love.”

Ginny could most solemnly swear she was up to no good. “Explain.” She would give him a chance to leave his note before serving him the death sentence. He appeared, or pretended, to be puzzled, so she said through clenched teeth. “I had to go all the way around a damn blocked field, and here you are, sipping firewhiskey,” yes, she didn’t fail to notice the beverage perched atop a tiny coffee table, “and commenting on MY being late!”

“Ah, I see you’ve met your Christmas present.”

“What?” For once, our witty girl was at a loss for word. “Me-Met my present? What on earth do your mean?” she finally managed to stammer out.

“Come over here.” He drawled, leading her to a floor-to-ceiling window at the side of the room facing the streets. But the enchanted glass yielded not a view of Hogsmeade. Rather, it offered a breathtaking sight of the blockaded meadow which Ginny passed on her way here.

“Ah, you amazing guy of a ferret!” Ginny squealed again, this time her voice ringing with obvious ecstasy.

“And I had thought I deserved better.” Draco chuckled, both offended and amused.

“It can’t be…” Ginny trailed off, only to be reassured by Draco.

“Yes love, specially for us. Searing snow, ice on fire. ”

There, out the window, was ablaze a vast meadow of ice, charmed to burn with a hue not unlike that of Ginny’s hair, while overhead it rained hollies and snowed candies.

“Merry Christmas.”

Fin