He said: “I got you some mittens,” and his face, shining with frost, was soft and warm and it seemed strange that he could radiate such heat on a day like this. They were covered in snow, his black hair giving the impression of going prematurely white.

She said: “Oh.” She much rather had the stiffness of her fingers, trailing her frozen hands over his cheeks, marvelling at how she could feel him melt her down even without touching her.

He said: “But I left them up in the tower, so you’ll have to do with this,” and he smiled and took her hands and led them past layers of cloth under his shirt. He was scalding hot like burning irons.

She said nothing, just let him wrap her snow-filled fiery locks around their necks like a shawl, smiling against his winter coat, not minding the handfuls of snow Sirius was dumping on their heads. Winter could be warmer than summer, sometimes.