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Summary
Hermione reached for the proffered key, and Draco folded his arms as she took it from his open palm, the surface of the glove now wet from the snow since the warmth of the chalet was doing a good enough job of melting it all. He watched her turn it over, raising his eyebrows at her, waiting for her flush of embarrassment and profuse apology. His fingers closed into fists, the snow now icy cold water against his skin.
“This says number ten,” she finally said, holding the key out for him to take back.
“It does,” Draco confirmed as though she had suddenly become stupid.
“Number ten, Malfoy. This is number forty. You’re in the wrong chalet.”
Complete!