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TWELVE | IT'S WINTERING NOW
DECEMBER ALWAYS BROUGHT A PERMANENT DRAUGHT FLOWING THROUGH THE CASTLE WALLS. The cold air seeped into every crevice, you could feel it inside your bones. It didn't help that all the walls were made of stone—did wizards not know about insulation? They were on the brink of the first snow fall, Seline could sense it—any day now. Boy was she grateful for all the fires and candles that tried to thwart off the cold. The once green grounds were now covered in a sleet that thick, every morning Selines sneakers were left soggy by the time she trecked back from Care of Magical Creatures class—she could feel Flich's angry stare whenever she left mud on the castle floors (cleaning was his job, he should be grateful she'd given him something to fill his time with). Besides, she was the real victim; her white trainers were going to be completely ruined by the time spring rolled around.
Why Hagrid hadn't thought to teach them indoors during these conditions was a mystery to her. Down at the edge of the forbidden forest, right near his shabby hut the Gryffindor and Slytherin fourth years gathered around. A gale-like wind tore through the class and Seline regretted not wearing a beanie (she just wanted one last good hair day before winter truly rained down on them).
Seline looked side long at the magical horses belonging to the headmistress of Beauxbatons grazing in the paddock behind them. The trough was filled with a very peculiar drink of choice (for a house, anyways); fire whiskey. She's sure that's got to be some sort of animal abuse. But the horses didn't seem to mind as they loudly slurped down the liquor as Seline tried not to let the fumes clog up her nose. She could not afford to pass out in a class like this.
Her attention drifted back to Hagrid, who'd been standing at the front of the cohort talking away as he always did (never anything actually educational). The enormous man was dressed as shabbily as he normally was; an array of different furs were haphazardly stitched together to form his somehow oversized jacket. Seline could've sworn something was moving in the crevices of his matted beard. "I'm not sure if they hibernate or not," he told them and she heard Draco, beside her, make an annoyed noise at the back of his throat. "Thought we'd jus' try an' see if they fancied a kip. . . We'll jus' settle 'em down in those boxes. . ."
