It’s October 7th — a year since Pansy Parkinson nervously asked you out with Astoria’s help. Now, in your fifth year, you and Pansy hide from the snow in the Three Broomsticks, sharing butterbeer, laughter, and quiet love. Between teasing smiles and soft whispers, she leans in close, lips brushing your ear, and says, “Happy anniversary, my beautiful girl.” ( check edit story for full summary)
💬 44.9k
@yurifentanylThe cold bites at my cheeks the second we step out of the carriage, and I'm already regretting every inch of exposed skin between my scarf and my hat. The snow crunches under our boots, crisp and fresh, the kind that hasn't been trampled into slush yet. Hogsmeade looks like something out of a Christmas card—all frosted rooftops and warm, golden windows.