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Cold Hands, Warm Heart

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Harry isn’t entirely sure exactly when the Saturday snow ball fights began. He recalls it starting as a disorganized game between some Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors but soon enough the other houses joined in. Eighth year at Hogwarts was meant to be all about house unity but traditions are difficult to break and naturally teams of houses formed. Before they knew it, most Eighth year students gathered about the Hogwarts grounds every week to partake in the good natured but competitive snowball fight.

It’s well into an hour from the start of this Saturday's festivities; most of the students are back inside sipping on cocoa and warming up by the fire but Harry isn’t quite finished yet. He moves stealthily closer to the giant lake, gingerly stepping over hard packed snow, the top layer crunching softly after each step.

Cold seeps into his fingers, despite his thick gloves, but he refuses to release the compressed ball of snow in his hand. He debates dropping the snow when he feels a burst of pressure and cold as a snowball hits him directly on the back of his shoulder. Harry whirls around just in time to see a flash of blonde hair duck behind a tree. Harry starts towards him, snowball in fist ready and launches an attack as Draco jumps out from behind the tree. His frigid hands must be feeling the consequences of being out in the cold all morning, for despite his careful aim, the snowball misses and explodes against the tree. Though not a direct hit, the remains of the snowball explode in all directions, misting Draco’s face and causing his pale lashes to be covered in loose flakes of snow. Draco scowls, but his eyes are alive with amusement and mischief.

Harry has merely a moment of warning before Draco steels himself, and then races towards Harry, a determined look in his eye. Before Harry can properly react, slender arms are flung around his midsection and a pointy shoulder presses into his ribcage. His attempts to stay balanced are useless and they both collapse, crashing into the hard packed snow, tumbling down the steep slope towards the frozen lake. Harry has a brief moment of panic as they draw closer, fingers digging into Draco’s arms in fear, but luckily their momentum slows and they stop a few feet away from the icy edge of the water. Draco has settled on top of Harry and the heavy weight of his body pins the Gryffindor into the ground. The solid earth presses into his back and he can feel an intense chill invade his body. The wind been knocked from Harry’s lungs and he finds it difficult to draw in a full breath. The pressure of the blonde’s body is electrifying and his sparkling grey eyes are enticing; Harry finds himself breathless for more than one reason. Draco looks triumphant above him; cheeks flushed pink, his breath visible in the wintry air. The bloody arrogant git is gorgeous. He’s won the battle this week, but Harry hardly cares. Draco’s pink lips curl into a smile and when Harry presses his mouth against his everything is right and suddenly he doesn’t feel the cold at all.