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Ginny cursed the unhelpful property manager for two boring days during which she and Malfoy held a standoff to see who would step foot outside the cabin first. Ginny feared if she left, Malfoy would lock her out, just as she'd accused him two days ago, and she could only assume he held the same fear because she hadn't seen or heard any sign of him leaving.

Snowball seemed to split his time unevenly between Ginny and Malfoy. More often than not she found him curled up at the foot of her bed or twining himself around Ginny's ankles when she ventured to the kitchen for food. Even though he was a Malfoy by adoption, she enjoyed Snowball's company, especially since this was the first Christmas she would spend alone, and Ginny doubly enjoyed the fact that Malfoy's cat seemed to prefer Ginny over him.

By December 23rd, despite the cat cuddles, Ginny had grown resentful of Malfoy for being the catalyst that kept her cooped up inside on her holiday, so she set out of her room in search of him to tell him once and for all that he had better accept that they would be sharing the cabin.

If only she could find him.

Snowball kept pace with her as she searched from room to room, tripping her on occasion as he wound between her legs, but Malfoy was absent.

It dawned on Ginny as she meandered back into the kitchen in confusion that the reason Snowball had spent so much time with her the past two days was because Malfoy had not been participating in The Great Cabin Standoff of 2006. The wanker had been leaving the cabin all along! He probably didn't even bother sneaking out because the cabin was large enough for the two of them to coexist without running into each other. The silence should have tipped her off, but she'd spent that whole time fuming over her ruined Christmas plans and distracted by Snowball.

Ginny rushed around her room as she searched for her as-yet-unpacked snow gear, tossing it all on as quickly as possible to make use of the remaining daylight. She and her rented skis ascended up the mountain on a chairlift less than fifteen minutes later.

And who did Ginny stumble across, butt planted in the snow, when she reached her destination? Draco Malfoy himself.




Draco had a particular fondness for the moment at the top of a run when he pushed off with his ski poles and allowed gravity to pull him down the mountain. There was a certain thrill in that one instant when he relinquished control to the earth, to the slope, to the forces of nature. Maybe a peculiar thrill because Draco hated not being in control. He'd never tolerated being controlled in his youth, whether that was by a peer or an authority figure, but ever since the war, since the mission that got him initiated into the Death Eaters and the year that had followed in which the Dark Lord had held his parents under his ophidian thumb, loss of agency was not something that Draco handled particularly well.

But instead of feeling confined, skiing gave him a sense of freedom. Yes, the gravity controlled him, but Draco could still manipulate his course. In fact, he had to lest he sail directly into a tree or a ravine. There was the moment he pushed off when Draco gave up his agency willingly, and then a few moments later during the descent when he wrested that control back. It was poetic in a way his life wasn't, and it delighted him almost as much as the snow on which he skied.

There was something delicious about watching other people in that moment of descent as well. It was hard to determine expressions when skiers wore goggles that covered half their faces and balaclavas that covered the other half, but years of study had made Draco an expert observer.

Some people hesitated as soon as they pushed off, their arms waving, too frightened of face-planting to dig their ski poles back into the snow to stop themselves. Some people's legs wobbled, knees knocking together, skis crossing. Some pushed off as hard as they could, as enthralled with the thrill as Draco and craving more of it.

The best part of watching other people ski was throwing snowballs at them just as they pushed off and engineering a new reaction all together.

Draco had spent his morning skiing, but now he had claimed a spot in the snow, a light warming charm on his bum to keep him comfortable. He snickered as he threw snowball after snowball at unsuspecting skiers, professionals and beginners alike, adults and children—he didn't discriminate.

His fun was ruined when he got pelted in the face by a rogue snowball. Spluttering as he wiped ice out of his nose and eyes, he craned his neck in search of his assaulter and growled at the sight of Weasley's red hair marring the pristine white landscape.

"You!" they said at the same time.

"Why didn't you—tell me you were—leaving!" Weasley said, heaving snow at Draco in between her words.

Draco dodged each attack as he climbed to his feet and trudged toward her. The onslaught didn't cease, so he bent to build his own arsenal of snowballs before he became completely soaked in melted ice.

"What I do—is—none—of your business!"

They stood a whole twenty feet apart, lobbying snowballs at each other as if deep in battle rather than standing in open snow at the top of a ski slope.

Draco used his wand to heft a Quaffle-sized snowball through the air, aiming it directly at Weasley's unprotected middle.

Well, he felt a moment of pure satisfaction as the giant snowball propelled her backward, a look of horror on her face.

But as Weasley disappeared down the slope—arms flapping like mad, a scream ripped from her throat—the satisfaction, the delight, the joy that Draco had experienced all afternoon while pelting skiers with snow did not manifest. Instead, dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, and before he could even think what to do next, his body was moving, jumping onto his skis, which strapped themselves to his feet like magic, and then descended down the mountain in pursuit of a Weasley.




The cabin was blissfully quiet until Snowball's servant and the orange fur returned, though in a much quieter fashion than usual.

Snowball's ears turned in the direction of the main door opening, of the softly murmuring meows that filled the front hall. Orange Fur had set out a heaping bowl of warmed food for him before she had left, and now Snowball was too sleepy to investigate the new sounds further. He put his head back down on his paws and snorted, relishing in the last rays of the sun soaking him with their warmth. Once the sun disappeared, he'd find a fireplace to lay before or an occupied bed to cohabit.

Servant and Orange Fur came to him anyway, but he didn't bother to open his eyes.

"Just put me on the sofa. I don't need you to carry me all the way up to my room!" Orange Fur said in an exasperated manner.

"What am I doing carrying you at all?"

"Don't ask me, Malfoy! I didn't ask you to!"

The sofa cushions squeaked as a weight pressed into them, and then there was a sigh.

"This is your fault."

"You threw the first snowball."

Another sigh. "You're right."

"Really?"

A pause as Orange Fur struggled to answer. Snowball's ears twitched in anticipation.

"Thank you," she said, her meows a bit strangled, a bit muffled. Then, more softly, "Why did you come after me?"

Snowball opened his eyes now. The sun had finally become obscured by the landscape, which sent a chill through his bones all the way to the tip of his fur. Stretching, he rose from the floor and jumped onto the sofa. Orange Fur laughed as Snowball kneaded her stomach and turned, looking for the softest, warmest place to curl up.

As he did so, Servant meowed, "I didn't want to be responsible for the Harpies' star Chaser's demise. Can you imagine what a stain that would have been on my spotless reputation?"

The corners of Orange Fur's lips lifted. "Quite the stain."

"Exactly. So excuse me for saving myself the headache of the public's censure. It was difficult enough to endure the first time around."

Orange Fur rolled her eyes. "Fine then. You didn't want blood on your hands. Why carry me all the way back up the mountain when I'd already healed my ankle before you'd reached me?"

Servant looked away, the reflection of the flames from the fireplace crackling within his eyes in a mesmerizing fashion. Orange Fur seemed to think so as well because when Snowball looked, she was equally as transfixed by the sight.

"It would have been a shame if you'd injured it again."

"Would it? I thought you might have enjoyed seeing me in pain."

Servant stood, his paws clenching at his sides. "I enjoy watching you fly, Weasley."

Silence spread between them as their gazes connected and locked, and it was no surprise to Snowball that Servant was the one to break the silence and his gaze first. He was terrible at the no blinking game. Snowball always won.

"I was thinking only of myself, I assure you. The second to last thing I need is Gwenog Jones sending me Howlers because I ruined her favorite Chaser's ability to play."

Servant took a step as if to leave, but then Orange Fur opened her mouth. "It doesn't matter anyway. I ruined our chances at the playoffs. I'm sure Gwenog wouldn't care if I did injure myself. I already let her down enough this season."

"I'm sure you're wrong," Servant said, and then before Orange Fur could stop him again, he departed.

Snowball was halfway asleep when Orange Fur began scratching his head, and when he blinked at her, drowsy from his earlier meal and the good pets, she was staring into the fire, a small frown on her face as she contemplated the warmth.
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