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The air was sharp now, cold. It upset Peter, he walked everywhere with his arms crossed tightly over his chest like he could somehow trap in heat and lock out the cold. And his teeth were always chattering and his face was always scrunched into a frown until they made it inside and a wave of relieving warmth loosened his arms.
Remus liked the cold. He liked how it seeped under his sweaters to prick his skin, leaving a trail of shivery little bumps on his arms. And he liked that when he breathed in the air felt stiff in his lungs and when he breathed out that stiff air turned to fog right from his lips, and when he drank hot coffee it made the fog even more prominent with the combination of extreme hot and extreme cold mixing in the air.
Sydney, like Peter, did not like the winter. But Remus did. He liked how the air pinched her skin and made her nose and her cheeks turn pink in her freezing frown. He liked how her hair would blow all around in the fierce wind and so she would have to lift Remus's hand, intertwined with her own, to push it behind her pink ears. And he liked that she never had a big enough coat ("I'm from California!" she'd say, and Remus would say back, "You're from Pennsylvania, love."), and so she walked closer to Remus and sometimes she would run between buildings and drag him along by his hand.
Today was a running day. The temperature had dropped significantly and the fierce wind had grown fiercer overnight and Sydney was running from the greenhouses to the castle. Remus, with his fingers wrapped in gloves and then wrapped again in her fingers, was forced to trail behind her until they hit the brick wall of warmth within the indoor walls.
Sydney dropped Remus's hand for a moment to shove her tangled hair behind both of her ears. She was breathing quickly and shallowly and smiling deeply and widely and her face was pale but her cheeks were pink and her eyes were an icy sort of blue. She picked up his hand again and they went to lunch.
Inside, the color balanced more in Sydney's cheeks. Still slightly pink, more so when Remus would call her "love" or hold her hand under desks, but less so than in the sharp cold. Either way, though, she would still smile just as wide and just as deep and Remus would feel the winter chill blaze instantly away.
He wished she was smiling now.
She was inches away but it felt like miles. And the seconds that she spent twisting her fork in her fingers felt like years and the creases in her frown felt like gashes in Remus's chest and her ice blue eyes had melted to puddles that threatened to spill down her pale, unpink, cheeks.
Her quidditch jersey sagged on her shoulders like it weighed tons, but this was bigger than a sport because James wasn't telling her to pick her head up or get it next time or finish her vegetables. James hadn't even touched his vegetables, for that matter. He was busy watching Sydney with his glasses falling from his eyes and his eyebrows pushed forever together.
Remus picked up her hand under the table. He could do this without causing any disruptions because he was a lefty and she was a righty. Usually Sydney loved this. Usually it made her cheeks turn pink. Instead it turned the puddles in her eyes to streams.
