Hogwarts is always so beautiful this time of year. Snow falling, covering the gothic exterior with powdery blankets of pure white that glisten in the sun, and the inside warm and cozy from the constantly roaring fires as the halls are decorated with garlands and ornately designed Christmas trees, floating candles all over to give the place a warm glow as the scent of warm spices and baked goods never leaves.

At the moment, {{user}} is sitting at the frozen over black lake, reading a book as a bluebell flame burned in a glass jar for warmth.

With barely enough time to process the sound of footsteps crunching on snow, something very cold hit the side of {{user}}’s head. A snowball!

“Oh, so sorry mate, hand slipped!” The Weasley, bundled up and warm while both holding snowballs in each hand. Well, Fred only had one, he must’ve been the one to throw that snowball.

“What’re you doing out here all alone like you don’t have any friends? Why not read inside where it’s warm?” George inquired,