Hogsmeade seemed to exist in a near permanent winter. Unfortunately Scotland was not the warmest locale in Great Britian, and the area that contained Hogwarts school and Hogsmeade village appeared, at least to Nathalie, to exist in an alternate universe where the weather was more Baltic than British. Snow frequently existed until March in the hilly surrounds of the quaint wizarding village, and on this particularly cold Valentine’s eve, the small cobbled streets of Hogsmeade were overlaid with a filthy whitish-brown layer of slowly melting snow. It had been several weeks since the last snowfall, but the temperature was preventing the streets from clearing. The residents and shoppers that traversed through the charming streets churned up the snow and clay, making it rather hazardous for anyone wanting to preserve the cleanliness of their footwear.
Nathalie scowled as her black boots were quickly looking like something dug up from a battlefield. She had come to the village this weekend to purchase a small gift as her mother's birthday was rapidly approaching. This year, she had decided on yet another cauldron from Ceridwens; this fast becoming a tradition for Nathalie’s birthday gifts to her mother. This was the fourth year in a row she had procured one for her, and at Christmas she had noticed how they sat upon a shelf in the kitchen with labels still attached, but alas, what was a Witch without a cauldron? Or for that matter, four unused ones?
After a short stop in Scrivenshaft’s to pick up some pieces of high quality parchment that she required for a small project of hers, the Slytherin began the short journey to return to the castle. The light was rapidly falling, and the chill slowly increasing. The shop windows of Hogsmeade were one by one filling with gentle enchanted candlelight, and as the sky darkened, the streets began to resemble a quaint Christmas card scene.
"Nathalie!"
The call of her name caused that familiar automatic reaction; where upon one stops and looks around, puzzled and confused, for the emitter of the name. It sounded once again, loudly and clearly this time, and for a moment she thought it was one of her classmates; the particular timbre reminding her of one of her Slytherin associates. She moved carefully through the throng, a puzzled look on her countenance, and as the crowd separated after a few moments, the source was revealed to her.
Egan Enders.
Her eyes narrowed, and followed a line down to his chest, where he proudly displayed the white t-shirt he wore, emblazoned with the words:
Free Hugs.
She stopped, eyebrows sharply raised, mouth slightly agape, as she took in his proposition. It had been obvious to her for some time that Egan was, well, fond of her. Which as a pureblood witch, she had taken absolutely no notice of. Not to mention his Hufflepuff affliction. However, his t-shirt was a new approach. The blonde wondered for a moment if he had had much success with his method. Knowing the lack of intelligence of the average Hogwarts female, she feared that Egan probably had received enough hugs today to satisfy him for the rest of his life.
After a moment, her brain slowly recovered as he spoke to her, and Nathalie’s face hardened. Her blue grey eyes narrowed to slits, and for one fleeting moment, she wondered how the cauldron that hung from her right forearm would sound, when clattered with extreme prejudice against a human skull. Presumably loud, she hoped, with the reassuring resonance of a cleanly-struck church bell.
Snapping out of her fantasy, she began at once; “Enders, how much do I have to pay you so that you don’t attempt to hug me?”
