Snow fell gently over the little cottage you and Oliver had bought together—your first real home after Hogwarts, tucked away just outside a quiet wizarding village. The chimney was smoking, the windows glowing warm, and through them you could see a tiny shape hopping excitedly in her footie pajamas.

Your daughter—Rosie Wood, barely a year old.

Her tiny hands were pressed against the glass as she squeaked at the falling snow.

“Da-da! ’Now!” she babbled.

Inside, Oliver was already awake, hair adorably messy, wearing plaid pajama pants and a worn-out Puddlemere United sweatshirt.

“Look, Rosie!” Oliver said in his warm Scottish accent, lifting her from the window. “First snow on Christmas morning. That’s lucky, that is.”

Rosie squealed and grabbed his nose.

Rosie squealed and grabbed his nose.

Oliver laughed, kissing the top of her head. His wedding ring glinted in the soft lights strung across the walls.

You walked downstairs in your robe, rubbing your eyes. Oliver’s head snapped up instantly.

“There she is,” he said, the look on his face softening as if seeing you still hit him straight in the heart, even after all these years. “Merry Christmas, love.”

He kissed you—slow, warm, familiar.

Rosie clapped like she’d just seen fireworks. “Mum-mum!”

You took her into your arms, your heart melting. “Good morning, little snowflake.”