There had been just enough snow in the past few days to cement that there would, in fact, be a sleigh ride at the Ministry-organized ‘winter wonderland’ in Irvingly. If she was honest, Dezzie had actually been quite looking forward to it; she didn’t often get to see horses (normal muggle ones), and Christmas had always been her favourite time of year.

She had arrived in the square with her two younger siblings in tow; her mother, fortunately, had caught a cold and did not feel up to it. While Perpetua was excellent as parents went, she had become rather overbearing (understandably so) since Huxley’s death that summer. Dezzie missed her father dearly, but never more than when her mother found a new project to obsess over.

Naturally, the sleighs she had been so looking forward to were in high demand: all of the larger ones had already departed and were not expected back for some time. With only minor reluctance, she insisted Cressida and Florizel take one of the two-person sleighs; she would, Dezzie assured them, be quite fine in the interim. It was a decision the chaser would quickly decide was for the better: she discovered Mr. Pettigrew by the massive Christmas tree not long after.

Without even realizing she was doing it, Dezzie’s hands moved to verify that her chocolate curls were sufficiently pinned back (if anyone questioned her on it later she would insist it was just because she didn’t often go out and about when it didn’t involve quidditch), as she moved to greet him.

“Mr. Pettigrew!” she offered brightly. “What a pleasure it is to see you without a broom in hand—not that there is anything wrong with a broom, of course,” the brunette amended quickly, “but I so seldom see you socially that it seems almost shocking.”