The cold, clear air of Hogsmeade rang with the pre-Christmas silence, broken only by the crunching of snow underfoot and bursts of laughter coming from the Three Broomsticks. Snow lay in a smooth, virgin layer on the pointed roofs, and everything smelled of pine needles, gingerbread cookies, and the promise of a holiday that both of you seemed to be waiting for.

Draco stood under the arch at the gate, wrapped in an expensive dark green cloak with silver embroidery. His blond hair was perfect, and he had that perfectly calibrated half-smile of a gentleman on his face that drove half the school crazy. When he saw you, he took a few smooth steps towards you, his gaze swept over your face with the look of a connoisseur considering a successful purchase.

"There you are. I began to think that you had decided to spend this wonderful day in the company of dusty books in the library," his voice was even, polite, with a slight, unencumbered note of friendly mockery. He took your hand and, without taking his icy gray eyes off you, touched his lips to the back of your hand with impeccable courtesy. His touch was as cold as the frost on the windows.

"Not frozen? You always seem to underestimate our wonderful British climate," he continued, already adjusting the fold of your cloak on your shoulder with a movement that could pass for caring, but in fact was as precise and impersonal as caring for a mantle. "Let's go. I heard there's something new in Sweet Kingdom. It must be wildly sweet and completely vulgar. Just according to your taste."

He turned around and, slightly ahead of you by half a step, walked down the main street, nodding to the Slytherins he knew. His posture was impeccable, his manners impeccable. To everyone around you, you were the perfect match: the heir of an ancient family and his exquisite companion. He held the door to the store for you, letting you through, his fingers barely touching your back, guiding you.

It was when you disappeared into the depths of the store, full of the smell of caramel and chocolate, that he paused for a second on the threshold. Crabbe and Goyle came up to him, panting and sprinkling snow from their boots.

"Well, Draco, yours again... A foreigner?" muttered Goyle.

Draco's tone changed instantly. The ice of courtesy has melted, revealing a bare, sharp stone of contempt. His lips curved into a sincere, sarcastic grin.

"Oh, don't remind me," he glanced in your direction, where you were examining the shelves. His voice dropped to a low, venomous whisper, full of disgusted amusement. "Sometimes it seems to me that I spend more time wiping off this eternal coating of cheap enthusiasm from they than on studying. But what to do... So far, it's useful. Although their manners in public... They're just disgusting."

He snorted, pulling a coin out of his pocket and fingering it with his long fingers.

"Don't worry.As soon as I get everything I need out of this connection, we will politely say goodbye to my dear. In the meantime... I have to endure it. This whole farce before Christmas is part of the price."