"Not at all, it's simply realistic." He wished. It was entirely in his dreams, much like the notion of her greeting him home from an outing in nothing but very lacy lingerie. At least that one was slightly attainable, if he played his cards just right and she was feeling playful. But it was true, she always managed to alleviate his pouting with further affection; she never failed to get him to smile.

And if getting pegged by her snowball had been a travesty and a point against him, then hearing her confirm that he had indeed hit her (at the expense of her hair, which could easily be fixed) was a point in his favour. Not that the victory, such as it was, would last long.

He spent a moment punching the air to commemorate it, and probably shouldn't have. The next snowball arced towards him, and he barely dodged it with a squeak of surprise, only to be hit by the second and third. Despite snow clinging to his coat, his hair, and his scarf - sure signs that he was very much losing this battle already - Draco hid a little more behind his little wall, grabbing another couple of snowballs to return fire.