Early the next morning.
Outside, the bitter wind still howled. Great swathes of snow fell silently, laying another thick white blanket over the one from the night before.
Delicate frost had formed on the windowpanes, tracing patterns that belonged only to winter.
Inside the bedroom, however, it was still as warm as spring, sealed off from the cold beyond.
Half asleep, Jerry reached out by instinct, feeling for the person beside him as he always did.
His hand found—
Only cool, empty space.
The place beside him was vacant. All that remained was a faint, sweet scent lingering among the pillows and sheets, drifting through the warm air.
"Hermione?"
Jerry called her name sleepily, but received no answer.
He rubbed his eyes, sat up, and gave a long yawn. Then he bent to pick his pajamas up off the floor and pulled them on.
"Why is she up so early..." Jerry muttered. After finding no sign of her in the bedroom, he shuffled downstairs in his slippers.
The fire in the hearth danced merrily, driving away the morning chill.
In its warm glow, Hermione was curled up in a corner of the sofa. She wore his pajamas, which hung loosely on her, the oversized cuffs covering half her hands.
She was absorbed in his research notes.
Jerry's lips curved upward. He walked over without a sound, sat down beside her, and slipped an arm around her.
"Your feet are freezing." He cupped her bare feet, cool from the air outside her pajamas, and rubbed them gently to warm them.
Hermione set down the notes and smiled, shaking her head as she nestled deeper into his arms like a kitten seeking warmth.
With a playful glint in her eyes, she slipped her cool fingers through a gap between his pajama buttons