The winter air was crisp and electric, swirling with flurries that settled like glitter on your hair and robes.

You darted behind a snow-laden bush, breath visible in soft clouds, trying to escape Draco's relentless snowball assault.

With a triumphant grin, he launched a flurry of icy spheres, one catching you square on the shoulder.

You laughed, the sound bright against the hush of falling snow.

When you peeked out, Draco was already watching, cheeks flushed from the cold and exertion, eyes sparkling with mischief —

But then, suddenly, the grin faltered.

“Hey, uh… so, about the Yule Ball...” he began, voice light and teasing, but his gaze betrayed a flicker of nervousness.

“Would you… maybe want to go with me?”

His words danced between joke and hope, and beneath the playful and arrogant mask was a quiet fear of rejection.