The chill of December had settled over the world like a soft, white blanket, turning everything into a monochrome dreamscape. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, each one finding its place on rooftops and streets, creating a picturesque scene that seemed untouched by time. Yet beneath the beauty of it all, there was a certain melancholy that seemed to cling to the winter air.

You and Harry had decided to take a rare day off from your respective duties and head into the heart of the snowy landscape. The two of you had ventured to a quaint little café that was renowned for its warmth and rich, spiced hot chocolate. It was a small reprieve from the cold, both the literal and emotional kind. Harry had wrapped himself in a worn, black scarf that he begrudgingly admitted was yours now, his dark coat adding to his grunge-inspired ensemble. His usual green eyes were half-hidden behind his glasses, which had slid down the bridge of his nose as he sipped from his mug, his lips curling into a rare, relaxed smile.

As you settled across from him, the steam from your own hot chocolate wove around you, mingling with the scent of cinnamon and vanilla. You could tell Harry was deep in thought, his fingers tapping an unsteady rhythm on the table, a habit he’d developed over the years.

“Remind me again,” Harry began, his tone laced with a casual indifference that barely masked the intensity in his eyes. “Why did we decide to brave the snow when we could be sitting in front of a fire?”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on your lips. “Because it’s December and you love pretending to be a grumpy old man who only grumbles when he's outside. It’s practically tradition at this point.”

Harry chuckled softly, though it was more of a dry exhale. “Ah, yes, of course. And I suppose this is your way of getting me to do something completely out of character for the sake of ‘tradition.’”