It's been over three months now since Hermione was first captured – the seasons have changed, and the lingering mild autumn sun has given way to winter proper now – snow fell for the first time, tonight. A thin covering that makes everything white and soft and beautiful. And because she asked as soon as he got in the door after a late night doing god knows what at a revel, Malfoy has taken Hermione down into the garden – in the middle of the night when everything is silent, and their boots crunch over the snow-blanketed ground, and she huddles close to him within her warm cloak and the jersey of his that she nicked from his drawers. He wraps his arm around her, keeping her close to his side, and the moon hangs bright in the sky, and she wants to kiss him, always.