A Minute for the Snowflakes

It was one of those magical Weasley holidays, with the snow and the laughter and a blanket of stars - it was utterly charming and utterly warm, even as the fireplace fell silent and the moon took his spot amongst the sky. She stood alone in the night, drawing the familiar cold into her lungs, her arms crossed over a worn sweater. There was a certain beauty in silence, she had decided; it was cool and comforting and spectacularly unspectacular, the things she needed most, and the things she could only find in the moonlight along the snow drifts of Ottery St. Catchpole.