The warmth of Christmas lingered in the halls of Malverne Manor, but as the days passed, the realization that the holiday break would soon end settled over Ezekiel.
Tonight was one of the last peaceful evenings before they returned to Hogwarts. He found himself outside, standing in the manor's vast gardens, where a fresh layer of snow blanketed the world in white.
The sky was clear, stars twinkling like diamonds, and the cold air carried the faint scent of pine.
A voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"You always wander off when you're thinking too much."
Ezekiel turned to see Daphne, wrapped in a thick coat, her Slytherin scarf draped over her shoulders. Her hair cascaded down in loose waves, and her cheeks were pink from the cold.
"I thought you'd gone to bed," he said.
She smirked. "I could say the same for you."
She stepped closer, her boots crunching in the snow, and glanced up at the sky. "It's beautiful tonight."
Ezekiel nodded. "It is."
A moment of silence passed between them, comfortable and unspoken, before Daphne turned to face him fully.
"I wanted to thank you," she said softly.
"For what?"
"For making this Christmas… different. I always spent the holidays with my family, but it was never like this."
Ezekiel studied her, sensing the weight of her words. Daphne was used to formality, to duty and tradition—but here, she had laughed, teased, and smiled more freely than ever before.
"I'm glad," he said simply.
A flicker of hesitation crossed her face, but she took a step forward, closing the small distance between them.
"Ezekiel," she murmured, voice softer than the falling snow. "Are you… happy about this? About us?"
He didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
Daphne exhaled, and something gentle and relieved flashed in her eyes. "Good."
She reached for his hand—not forcefully, not awkwardly, just a quiet movement. When their fingers intertwined, the cold no longer seemed so biting.
Ezekiel looked down at her, their breaths visible in the crisp air.
A part of him knew this moment meant something more—something neither of them would fully acknowledge yet, but undeniably felt.
Daphne smirked. "You're not a bad fiancé, you know."
Ezekiel chuckled. "I should hope not."
She squeezed his hand lightly before stepping back, the cold reclaiming the space between them.
"Come inside," she said. "Before Celeste catches us and starts planning our wedding."
He rolled his eyes but followed.
As they walked side by side, Ezekiel found himself glancing at Daphne, a new warmth settling in his chest.
Maybe this arranged marriage wasn't something forced upon him.
Maybe—just maybe—it was becoming something real.
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