A/N: the semester is OVER and Christmas is coming yay (also happy holidays to anyone who celebrates other things too!) I wrote this fic a while ago and saved it for the holidays so hopefully its enjoyable and festive for everyone :)

Ginny wends her way through the pressing bodies toward the private back room of the Leaky Cauldron, offering Tom the barman a slight nod as she passed the bustling bar haphazardly trimmed with garlands, bright red ribbon, fairy lights.

As she reached the door, a large brooding man, face left in shadow by his cloak's hood, stepped in front of her, "Name?"

Smirking, she quirks a brow, "Ginny Weasley."

He shook his head, folding taught arms across his chest, "Nope. No one by that name is on my list."

She steps closer, unwinding the cheery Christmas scarf Victoire's untrained hands had laboriously crafted in the months leading up to Ginny's birthday, proclaiming it her beloved aunt's new holiday muffler with her barely there French lilt. And like most of the family, Ginny found herself largely unable to deny the little slip of a girl anything, and consequently had found herself wearing the multicolored mess of wool whenever she left the house after the first of November.

Fingers slipping through the too wide, uneven holes, she winds the scarf into a somewhat contained ball and tucks it deep into her cloak pocket as she leans forward with a conspiratorial whisper, "What names are on your list then?"

The gruff voice sounds from the folds of the dark hood once again as the tall wizard leans forward too, brushing the melty snow from her shoulder almost absentmindedly, "I can't tell you that, miss. But I can tell you all the invited Weasleys are already inside."

Eyeing the hand he'd used to groom her cloak as it flexes, perhaps itching for his wand out of habit, her gaze darts back to his, or where she thinks it is anyway, "I'd really like to get in there. Can't you make an exception?"

Ginny bats her eyes flirtatiously, letting freckled fingers grip his forearm as she rises to the tips of her toes, breath slipping along the side of his hidden cheekbone, "There must be something I can do to convince you."

As she begins to fall back on her heels, strong hands grip behind her elbows, pulling her close in the shadows beneath the rickety stairs that lead to the overnight rooms. Slowly, he tilts his upper body forward, as if giving her the chance to pull away, before reaching her chilled cheekbone and running his angular nose along the dip, "I'm sure we can come to an agreement."

Breath catching in her throat at the deep timbre of his voice, Ginny's hands grip reflexively at his muscled chest, when did they end up there, as she tips her head back, bringing them somewhat face to face, allowing her to make out the delicate bow of his lips, parted in a light grin that reveals a flash of white teeth, "And just what type of arrangement would that be, sir?"

"I do hate attending these sorts of functions alone," he murmurs, chest rumbling against her open palms.

Fiery brows rising into her hairline, she breathes back, "I don't know. I've an awfully jealous husband."

Although still hidden, she knows if his face were visible, a mischievous smirk would spread across his face as he muses, "A jealous husband who doesn't attend holiday parties with his fit wife. Awfully trusting bloke, eh?"

Ginny hums in agreement as he continues, "Wouldn't want you to betray such a great guy."

"The greatest," Ginny murmurs, eyes darkening as she pushes him further into the dim alcove.

Suddenly, the door next to them slams open, a tall red head emerging from a room filled with raucous laughter and warbly voices singing along to cheery Christmas standards, "Oi! Potter, stop snogging my sister and get your skinny arse inside."

The couple let out simultaneous sighs as Harry lets his hood fall back, head drooping to the crook of Ginny's neck with a groan for good measure.

Letting out a chuckle, Ginny runs her fingers through his matted hair, returning it to its standard mess, "Don't listen to him, I quite like your arse."

Harry nods against her neck, placing a few chaste kisses along the pale column as he replies, "I know. Which is why I can't believe I just successfully picked you up without exploiting said lovely bum."

Fingers rising to unfasten the brushed copper clasp at her throat, Ginny narrows her eyes, "I would hardly call that successful."

Mirroring her actions, Harry folds his onyx cloak over his arm and holds it out for hers, "You were in the process of pushing me into a dark corner to have your wicked way with me, dear. I think it counts."

Patting her pocket to ensure her wand was tucked away safely, Ginny tosses her cloak over her husband's proffered arm, before mimicking her earlier actions with significantly more speed, quickly cornering him, "Trust me Potter, if I wanted to have my wicked way with you, I would've had it."

Quickly, he wraps his arms around her slim waist, burdens falling to the dusty floor as he tugs her close, lips sliding over hers in a blistering kiss as her hands twine in his hair, urging him closer. Lumbering footsteps sound behind her back, followed by an indignant shout, "Bloody buggering hell, you two can't even keep it in your pants for a few hours."

Ginny turns around sharply, pulling her shirt down with a withering expression aimed solely at her brother, "Need I remind you of Easter hols 1999?"

Ron blanches as she plows ahead, "Or how about Bonfire Night 2001?"

Harry snickers as he redoes the top buttons of his dress shirt, smoothing his jumper back over his torso as Ginny delivers the final blow with a low growl, "Or Victoire's birthday tea this year?"

Sufficiently cowed, Ron narrows his eyes but turns his back and reenters the party clapping his hands and announcing loudly, "The Potters are here!" A declaration which is followed by a loud, slightly drunk sounding cheer.

Reaching back for his hand, Ginny leads the way inside as Harry mutters, "He does realize we're married now, right?"

Grinning, Ginny turns back over her shoulder, "I do believe he's planning on believing all our children will be stork deliveries."

"George says it'll be dragons."

As they enter, Harry hands their cloaks over to one of Tom's employees who carefully catalogues each garment and places them in a closet Harry's sure must have an undetectable extension charm on it if he's to believe it holds the outerwear of the thirty five or so former Gryffindor quidditch players already milling about the room cheerily.

After locating his wife among the throng, Harry's hand finds the small of her back, more to remind himself she's there than staking a claim. She answers by tilting her head into his side, placing a quick kiss to his chest before once again pulling him toward the opposite side of the room. As she elbows her way through the crowd, offering smiles and small talk when appropriate, her grip on his hand never wavers, occasionally squeezing as he blushes when his title as youngest, and greatest, Gryffindor seeker comes up in conversation.

Soon enough, they reach the far end, equidistant from the buffet, open bar, and the small stage where Lee Jordan's hired musicians play expertly. As his eyes take in their surroundings, they settle on a bushy head of brown hair turned away from the couple and chatting amiably with some unknown blond seated one table over. Ginny shuffles around, apologizing when necessary, before sliding into her chair and tugging Harry down next to her, "Hermione, we're here."

Cutting off the conversation promptly, Hermione turns around, a laughing grin on her face, "I know. You were announced."

"Your husband's a bloody-"

"Wonderful keeper? I know," Ron cuts in, flicking his wand, causing three drinks to float expertly in front of his waiting tablemates, the fourth landing in what is presumably his place.

Harry eyes the milky looking drink dubiously, sniffing at the rim, noting the hint of cinnamon dusted across the top, a scent that lingers as he catches the heady scent of rum added with a heavy hand. Clinking glasses with Ginny, he takes a healthy swig, licking his lips clean as his arms come to rest on the confetti-strewn table. Adjusting the wide neckline of her deep purple top, Ginny leans back in her chair, twisting the crystal glass as she drapes one arm over the back of her husband's chair, fingers brushing against his spine casually.

The early hours of the reunion pass swiftly, former teammates as well as players from years before and after make circuits around the cheery room, reminiscing and exchanging anecdotes from their days on the house team. Quite a few had gone on to play professionally, Ginny and Wood among the small but robust group that still held a devotion for their first team.

Once the buffet had been picked over and refilled with various holiday treats and copious beverages of the adult nature had been swilled, the band once again took to the small stage, Lee clearing the center of the room with a swift flick of his wand as couples trickled toward the dance floor, inhibitions loosened by the festive spirit of the season as well as the festive spirits provided by the open bar.

Harry wraps Ginny in his arms, his dancing an excellent impression of a tipsy wet noodle, as he twirls her around the floor, bringing her in for a deep dip complete with his best attempt at a sultry look. Ginny lets out a bark of a laugh and Harry soon follows, returning her to an upright position as their cheeks fill with mirth induced color.

Soon, they wander from the dance floor, staying close as they pick their way toward the drinks and snacks until Ginny is snatched away by a few former teammates asking for updates on the next year's World Cup. Good-naturedly, Harry waves her off, promising to get her more of those 'little puffy things' she liked so much, as well as two firewhiskys, one neat and the other on the rocks.

Snatching a discarded tray, Harry raises his prizes above his head and the pressing crowd, pausing briefly as Oliver recounts Harry's first game to his own former Captain, before making his way back to the corner table still guarded by Hermione and Ron.

Almost immediately upon his return, Hermione shoves her chair back, pulling Ron with her as she stands, tugging him away from the freshly cleaned table. Harry smirks as he places his spoils on the surface, "Should I be offended?"

Ron smirks, "Yes. You smell."

Frowning, Harry tugs his jumper toward his nose for an inspection, as Hermione smacks her husband, "No. Ron's only excuse for not dancing was that he didn't want to lose our 'prime seating.' But now you're back –"

"Thanks for nothing mate," Ron grumbles, although Harry knows his friend secretly relishes any opportunity to parade around with Hermione and remind everyone whom she chose.

Soon he's left alone, fighting the temptation to demolish the selection of finger foods he'd scrounged. I give her ten minutes and then I eat another puffy thing. He swigs another gulp of his firewhisky, melty cubes rushing toward his lips in an avalanche, when did I finish that?

Some undetermined amount of time later, Harry finds himself being prodded awake, awake?, by insistent fingers, the band having been replaced by jazzy instrumentals, the dance floor cleared, and both firewhiskeys and an eggnog empty in front of him, plates empty of all but a few flaky crumbs, "Harry."

He lets out a grunt, blinking blearily behind fingerprint-smudged glasses, "Whassamater?"

A huff sounds as Ginny's slightly blurry face appears, eyes alight with glee and mischief as she kneels in front of him, "You need to wake up, because I can't do this without you."

Harry grunts again, this time distinctly questioning as he gathers the aforementioned flaky crumbs on his finger and licks them off clumsily. Ginny quirks a brow as she grins, "Have enough to drink there, eh Potter?"

"Th' eggnog was so delic- delick- del-"

Smirk widening, Ginny laughs, "Delicious? Don't hurt yourself."

Frowning, he recalls her initial reason for interrupting his apparent mid-party nap, "What's th' thing you need me t'do?"

Just then, Lee Jordan takes the stage, casting a quick sonorous on himself as he claps his hands, gathering the attention of what seems to be a much smaller group of revelers to announce the beginning of the karaoke segment of the celebration. Taking in Ginny's pleading look together with said announcement, Harry's alcohol addled mind still manages to piece together the mystery, "No."

"Harry. It's all carols! We have to do our song!" Ginny pleads in a low whisper.

Harry shakes his head somewhat sloppily, "Nah. 'm jus' the bells. You're the carol."

Forgoing her attempts at sweet-talking, Ginny leans forward, fists planted on the table, "Harry. I need your ding dong."

Ron chooses that moment to slump into his own seat nursing a Butterbeer, "What the bloody buggering hell?"