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EVEN though the snowy courtyard was cold enough to cause frostbite, Athena did not mind. She settled onto an empty bench beneath the bare branches of a gnarled tree, her fingers already numb as she gripped the letter her family's owl had dropped off that morning.

The Daily Prophet—with its headline about Lord Avery's betrothal, also known as Edmund Avery—slipped from her hands to rest on the bench beside her, forgotten.

Athena's gaze fixed on the letter, and the rest of the world seemed to disappear, swallowed up by the heavy parchment in her hands that determined how summer would go for her in six months.

With a quiet sigh, Athena eased open the letter, her fingers brushing the Malfoy family crest embossed on the seal. She glanced around quickly, as if to make sure no one was watching her every move, before she slid the parchment free.

She was suddenly glad to see the messy, cursive writing of her brother's instead of the neat, cursive writing that belonged to her mother.

"Dear Athena,
How is Hogwarts treating you this Yule? It's a shame you missed Edmund's betrothal party last week, but I suppose I understand. Mother is absolutely livid. She's been muttering curses under her breath all week, and I keep trying to cover for you, but she's not having any of it. She's convinced you deliberately defied her orders and stayed away out of spite, which I suppose is true, but I keep trying to convince her otherwise.
Do not send a letter back. She is still livid and would hide it from me just because. I will see you soon.
With love,
Abraxas Octavius Malfoy.
Heir of the Most Noble House of Malfoys."

Athena would have laughed at the last line, but her focus remained on the part where her brother talked about their mother's anger.

With shaky hands, she folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. Already, she knew what was waiting for her that summer.

But it was worth it. If it meant she'd be far from her mother for a bit longer, then she'd take anything that came after it.

The sharp crunch of snow underfoot broke the stillness, drawing Athena's attention. She turned instinctively, her eyes narrowing as she searched for the source of the disturbance.

A figure emerged from the flurry, their footsteps deliberate against the cold, the faintest puff of breath rising in the air with each step. "You too?" asked Dorian Nott, waving a letter in his hand as he made his way over to her.

Athena's gaze flickered to the seal on the letter—the Nott family crest—and a wave of sympathy tightened in her chest, despite the fact that her situation wasn't any different.

She glanced at Dorian as he lowered himself onto the bench beside her after throwing the Daily Prophet onto the ground to make space for himself. His posture seemed relaxed, despite the tension in his eyes.

"Your mother or your father?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dorian exhaled a bitter laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Mother," he replied flatly. "I doubt my father even remembers I exist."

"Yeah, I relate to that." Athena let out a scoff, shaking her head.

Dorian's lips twitched.

With a roll of his eyes at the thought of their family problems, he slung an arm over Athena's shoulders and grinned when she didn't pull away. In fact, she only leaned into him.

A calm silence fell between them, the kind that came only from knowing someone long enough to leave words unspoken. After a few moments, Athena glanced up at him, her voice breaking the stillness. "Why are you not with Isadora?"

"She's with a friend," Dorian answered, his tone clipped, a slight edge creeping into his words.

Athena's eyebrow arched, her head still resting on his shoulder. She could feel the tension in his frame, the shift in his mood at the mere mention of Isadora. Knowing better than to push it, she asked, "How's Delilah?"

Dorian stared off into the distance, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. For a long moment, he said nothing, then finally spoke in a distant tone. "Well."

Pulling away from him, Athena could not help but ask, "What's got your wand in a knot?"

He sighed immediately, as if he knew she'd ask. Dorian closed his eyes, shoving the letter he was holding into the pocket of his coat. His gloves seemed to bring more warmth than needed, so he took them off and handed it to her.

When she merely looked at him in confusion, he said, "You're going to get frostbite and I don't fancy Abraxas blaming me for not taking care of you."

She rolled her eyes, but took the gloves he offered and put them on, even though it was big for her. She felt her fingers warming up almost immediately, and quietly, she said, "Thanks."

Dorian merely nodded.

Without another word, he removed his arm from around her shoulders, letting the space between them grow. His movements were casual, but the shift in his posture, the slight stiffness, betrayed something he wasn't saying.

The air around them felt a little colder now, and Athena, sensing the change, didn't press him further.

Instead, she let her gaze drift, watching the snowflakes fall in the quiet of the courtyard.

"My mother isn't letting me see Delilah," admitted Dorian quietly.

Athena's head snapped to the side, her eyes wide with surprise. "What?" The word escaped her without thinking, pure shock written across her face.

Dorian didn't meet her eyes. Instead, he rubbed the back of his hand against his right eye, a faint gesture of frustration or weariness. "It's a punishment for not getting betrothed yet," he admitted, his voice thick with the weight of the words.

Athena could only stare at him, the revelation hitting harder than she expected. Her mouth opened, but no words came. The thought of Delilah—of his family, his mother, controlling him like that—left her utterly speechless.

"Isadora isn't ready," continued Dorian, still not meeting her eyes.

Each word out of his mouth seemed to need great strength, and Athena wondered if it was the first time he admitted these things to anyone—and realized that it was, in fact. She was the only one who knew about his relationship with Isadora Flint, and it seemed to remain that way.

So she let him talk.

And she only listened in return, knowing the friend beside her needed exactly that; someone listening.

Dorian shook his head, the motion almost too subtle to catch. His voice was quieter now, tinged with a bitter sort of resignation. "She isn't ready, and I don't blame her." He paused, the words hanging in the air before he continued, his tone hardening slightly. "My mother doesn't know about Isadora—only you do. And she's been pushing me to get betrothed to someone else—anyone—especially after Lestrange's engagement last summer. I keep refusing, but it only makes her angrier."

A heavy silence followed, Dorian's gaze fixed somewhere beyond Athena, lost in the weight of his own frustration. "I wasn't allowed to go back to Nott Manor this Yule to see my sister. It's a punishment. And the letter contains curses from my mother, due to having this 'punishment' on me at the wrong time. Because, according to her, I should have been betrothed by now and have been able to attend the betrothal ball of Lord Avery's, instead of missing it because of my punishment."

Athena could only shake her head, pursing her lips. "I'm so sorry," she said quietly, knowing that the only comfort the boy needed was to feel understood and not be given solutions.

Because there were no solutions for the things they were all going through.

He shrugged, but the movement felt like it took a great deal of effort. "I don't know what to do. I got into an argument with Isadora half an hour ago over this."

Athena's brows furrowed, her heart heavy with sympathy for him. The only comfort she could offer was a simple gesture—she slid her arm over his shoulder, mirroring the way he so often did for her.

The move was small, but it seemed to shift something in him.

Dorian's lips twitched upwards, just enough to show the faintest hint of a smile, and he leaned into her, as if the act made him forget, for a moment, that he was taller than her.

"Why did you and her argue?" She asked in concern.

"Because," Dorian sighed. "She thinks she's causing problems in my life, even though I assured her I didn't mind waiting a few years until she's ready. I can put off my mother as long as I want—I am the Nott heir, after all. My mother can't really make me do anything. But Isadora thinks it's her fault."

She shook her head with a sigh. "You shouldn't have told her about this, then."

"I didn't," Dorian responded quickly, though his voice faltered for a moment. "The letter came while I was in bed with—erm..." He trailed off, pulling away to scratch the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

Athena raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms in a way that made it clear she wasn't about to let him off the hook so easily.

Dorian threw his hands up in mock exasperation. "It came this morning while I was in bed with her, alright?" His eyes rolled dramatically, but his cheeks only darkened. "Anyway, like I was saying—" he cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, "—I opened it beside her while I thought she was asleep. Turns out, she wasn't. She read the whole damn letter. The bit about my mother, the punishment, the betrothal... everything. That's how she found out." He leaned back slightly, running a hand through his hair as if the whole situation was one big, awkward mess.

The air around them had grown noticeably colder, the chill seeping into their bones as snowflakes continued to swirl down from the grey sky, dusting the ground in a soft, untouched blanket.

Athena pulled her coat tighter around herself, but the cold seemed to seep in anyway, biting at the skin beneath.

The courtyard, once alive with the hum of voices and activity, now felt empty, save for the soft crunch of snow underfoot whenever one of them shifted.

"I think you just need to talk to her tonight after giving her some space," Athena said thoughtfully, breaking the silence. "Isadora isn't wrong to feel that way, if I'm being honest."

Dorian nodded in agreement. She was right, of course.

He knew that.

Still, he sighed, and the puff of cold air left his lips like a ghost.

The wind had picked up again, tugging at his coat, and he instinctively hugged it tighter around his chest.

"Let's go before we get sick," he said, glancing around at the barren courtyard, where the snow was beginning to fall heavier now, coating the ground in an even thicker layer.

Athena flashed him a mischievous grin as she stood, brushing the snow off her coat. "I heard the house-elves can make the best hot chocolate in this weather," she said, her eyes lighting up at the very thought of it.

Dorian's expression softened, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His eyes sparkled slightly at her words, the momentary tension forgotten in the warmth of the thought.

Putting a hand to his chest with mock drama, he said, "You really do know how to speak to my heart, dear Athena."

Her grin widened at his theatrics. "I do try," she teased, her voice light and teasing as she fell into step beside him.