She was not cold anymore. Of that, Pansy was certain, but out of habit, she pulled her dark winter coat closer as she walked down the main street of Hogsmeade. The layer of snow made a satisfying crunch with each step, something that normally would cause a small, nearly evil grin to stretch across her lips. However, no smile flickered across Pansy’s now weathered features. Fine lines around her eyes and mouth pronounced her approach to thirty. It had been nearly ten years since she had been to Hogsmeade; ten years since the attacks, ten years since the war.



Had it really been that long? Pansy scowled, brushing a strand of her black hair out of her face. Ever since she had taken that vow to not cut her hair nearly five years ago those dratted black strands seemed to just take over her head. At least the length was nice…and the loose waves that reached halfway down her back could be nice sometimes…but of course, she took the vow for Draco. Ten years and he still had not returned.



Yes, Draco, her beloved, her Promised One, her very own Death Eater. She cursed the day that The Dark Lord was reborn. She cursed his war, his plans, his battles…it caused too much blood and over what? Revenge? Glory? To prove that he is the best in the world?



The Dark Lord took Draco from her, pressing her beloved one into his service. Now Draco was all but dead to her. She had not heard from him in over a year. And now the battles had stopped, The Dark Lord had been defeated…but what of Draco? What of the man that she loved and loves still? Was he one of the many charred corpses lain on those foreign fields, burnt beyond recognition by spells too horrible to name?



Pansy clenched her teeth, trying to forget all her questions that had no answers. This was the present. This snowy street, this bitter winter, her job as a secretary to a muggle psychiatrist; these were the things important now. Not Draco. Not those phantoms of the past.



Yet…she was still heading toward their rendezvous. Her steps faltered for a moment, each crunch of the snow being similar to the beating of a heart. Pansy’s heart stalled.



There! A figure leaning casually against Honeydukes wall casually, and enveloped by a large black cloak. His hooded head turned slowly, watching the few people out this late on such a night. Pansy froze, heart thumping painfully. Draco? She wanted to whisper. Was it he? Did he really come? Did that mean that he really cared about her…? It was a miracle! A miracle!



His posture…the man’s hand slid to his pocket and after a moment produced a packed of cigarettes. The flick of a lighter revealed his face, old and wrinkled…with dark, short hair. No.



Pansy forced herself to continue walking, forced herself to tear her eyes away from the man that was not Draco.



“Keep walking,” she chanted under her breath, “Do not look back.”



+++++++++++++++++



The bench was hard and cold under her body. Too cold. The strands of a grandfather clock, chiming out the hours met her ears. Twelve. It was twelve. And Draco…?



“No!” She gasped, feeling the despair start to loom. Not again. The cold bit at her nose and cheeks, stinging the tender flesh. She was cold. So cold!



There was nothing left in this world of snow and ice except despair. There was not hope, no love. Only cold, hard facts that hit hard at the most tender moments. Draco was dead and had been for perhaps a long time. He was never going to come back. His gentle lips would never press against her forehead, chastely, when he thought she was asleep. Burnt was his blond hair that would fall so gracefully around his eyes, making it seem like the soft blues were crying and holding a secret. Draco was gone, his corpse rotting in some grave under a tall pine tree.



All of this Pansy knew in an instant. A dry sob choked her throat. She could not even say his name…the name of her beloved, her angel, her prince, her lover…her Draco. Her very own God of the Dead.



Pansy’s frail body shook with sobs and she buried her face in her hands. No tears fell but each movement suggested that the hot tears of despair were not far behind. It was hopeless. Everything was wrong. Her life was all wrong and what made it all the worse was that she could not do anything about it! It was so cold…she was cold. And numb. Frozen.



“Pansy.”



No, no. Pansy spiraled down into herself, relishing in the cold and the dark of her own soul. Perhaps she really was as rotten and evil as some people believed. Perhaps the reason why Draco left was that he saw how bad she was and hated her for it. He did not want to be with someone as twisted as Pansy. Who would want to be with her? She was alone and ugly, dead to the world.



“Pansy!”



Who would want to talk to her? Couldn’t they see that she wanted nothing to do with the outside world? She was fine…just fine inside herself in the darkness. It was where she belonged. Who would dare bother her? Pansy wanted to scream at the intruder. It was her own world….and they expected to be let in? To be allowed to join so easily?



“Go to bloody-” An angel stood before her, wreathed in a black cloak and weak looking, but an angel none the less. Pansy choked, forgetting to breathe as her eyes drunk in his face, his aristocratic nose, his fine honey colored hair that covered blue eyes…those perfect blue eyes.



Than, just as everything was cold and frozen, it all broke into shards of glass. Pansy shouted and launched herself into his waiting arms, feeling the river of beating hearts and joy slowly melt. Water ran down her cheek for a moment, dripping onto Draco’s shoulder. Crying… she was crying… with joy!



Draco’s soft voice was whispering comforting things in Pansy’s ear, promises that she knew he would keep forever. All of his silver words were drowned out by a carol of angels; all singing in bell-like tones while their voices intermixed in a chorus of joy.



It is a miracle.

A miracle….

A miracle on Christmas Day…!

Rejoice all who hear

For God is near

And has brought you a miracle

It’s a miracle

A miracle

A miracle on Christmas Day…!