HP: She married Malfoy after becoming an exchange student.

A soft rustling sound came from behind as a silver fox trotted through the snow, each step creating a burst of ice flowers, its pale blue veins peeking through its silvery-white fur. Its tail swept across the ground, the frosty patterns vanishing in an instant.

"Silberglanz," Elias whispered in German. The fox immediately trotted over, but suddenly turned around two steps away from its master, circling Draco's legs, its tail tip forming a perfect circle.

Draco crouched down, and the silver fox suddenly stood up, its front paws off the ground, and touched his brow with its cool nose. In that instant, he smelled the scent of cedar and cold iron—exactly the same scent as Elias's sleeve.

"It has chosen its master," Elias's voice suddenly came close, his warm breath brushing against Draco's nape. "It has never done this to a visitor before."

Draco's fingers twitched slightly, but he didn't pull away. The snow had stopped sometime earlier, and the silence was so profound that he could almost hear the other's heart pounding.

The silver fox leaped lightly and disappeared behind the withered tree. Draco followed as if fleeing, his boots crushing a few frozen leaves.

Behind the tree, a small clump of white tulips bloomed quietly, their petals still covered with unmelted snowflakes. Draco reached out and gently touched them, feeling the cool touch on his fingertips.

A gust of cold wind blew by, and the topmost flower suddenly broke off, falling and perishing.

"How could this happen in this season..." he murmured, his voice carried away by the wind.

Elias's shadow fell beside him. "It was quite an adventure," he said, bending down to pick up the flower, his fingertips brushing against the broken stem. "Next spring, I'll have people plant it all along the Black Forest fence."

The silver fox returned, carrying a freshly picked tulip in its mouth. It placed the flower at Draco's feet, its blue eyes flashing for a moment in the moonlight, before turning and disappearing into the night.

The flower in Elias's hand had begun to wither, its edges curling and turning yellow. "Let's go back," Draco said.

On the way back, it started snowing again.

Draco put his hands in his pockets and felt a few soft hairs, silver fox fur that had somehow gotten on him, still carrying the chill of the forest.

Just like when they arrived, Elias walked ahead carrying a lantern, and Draco followed in his footsteps, sinking deep with each step.

The manor gates were lit with soft light. Sparkle, the house-elf, was stamping her feet on the porch; she immediately came to greet them upon seeing them.

"The young masters are finally back!" it shrieked, brushing the snow off their cloaks. "The fire is blazing, the hot cocoa is ready, and it even has Draco's favorite cinnamon..."

Upon entering the house, a wave of warmth washed over me. The firewood in the fireplace crackled and popped, its flames dancing on the oak floor.

Draco took off his cloak, and Elias, having already taken the hot cocoa from Glitter, handed him another cup.

"Drink it all," Elias said, his voice carrying an undeniable air of authority. He had somehow already picked up a wool blanket and casually draped it over Draco's shoulders.

The sweet, hot drink slid down his throat, the spiciness of the cinnamon making Draco frown. He sipped slowly, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Elias placed the empty glass on the coffee table.

"Good night," the German said, his voice warm with cocoa.

Draco nodded, watching his figure disappear around the corner of the stairs. A last sip of sweet liquid remained at the bottom of the glass. He stared blankly at the whitish foam for a while, until Sparkle carefully came over and took the glass away.

"Would Master Malfoy like another cup of cocoa?" The little elf's big ears twitched.

Draco shook his head, and as he stood up, the wool blanket slipped from his shoulders. He bent down to pick it up, his fingers touching the six-pointed star crest embroidered on the edge of the blanket—the stitches were so fine they were almost invisible.

The second-floor corridor was quiet, with only the wall lamps casting a dim yellow glow.

Pushing open the door, a faint scent of pine resin wafted into the air. The bed was already made, and the Snow Lion leather carpet gleamed in the moonlight.

In the distance, the clock tower faintly chimed twelve times, each strike heavy and echoing into the night of the Black Forest. Draco leaned against the headboard, listening to his breathing gradually synchronize with the rhythm of the wind blowing outside the window.

He fell asleep...