Author's Note: This story is written for the Through The Holidays Challenge. My prompt was "the first snow fall, opening presents under the Christmas tree, attempting to bake pudding for Cedrella and Septimus." Warning, I'm a hopeless American who's never been to Britain or eaten an English pudding. To me, that word means the goopy stuff you buy in little plastic cups or make out of instant powder by adding a bit of milk. I did actually look up a recipe in order to give a teensy bit of authenticity to this story. Forgive any mistakes.

The year the Muggles worried would be the end of the world was a pretty fantastic one as far as Hermione was concerned. Of course, considering the Second War had only ended two years previously, almost every year since seemed wonderful. However, as Hermione stood inside the tiny kitchen of her tiny London flat watching tiny snowflake drifting down for the first time that year, she didn't think she'd ever felt more hopeful for the future.

The year after the war had been difficult, especially those days when the war didn't feel like it was over. There were more attacks on Muggles and Muggleborns and members of the Order and the DA. Hermione put off going to Australia until the start of summer, leaving just as Ron, Harry, and Neville began their fast-paced Auror training. By the time she returned—from France, where her parents had travelled to over the year—Britain finally felt safe again. Then there'd been months of adjusting and feeling lost, but in 2000, the Weasley family celebrated two weddings, two babies, several new jobs and promotions, and Harry and Ginny's engagement. Personally, Hermione was most happy about Ron moving into her flat, but George's and Percy's weddings and Victoire's and Fred's christenings had been rather amazing too. The Chudley Cannon's had even won the League Cup. If that wasn't a sign that year had been good, Hermione didn't know what could have been better.

"What's all this for?" Ron leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, his hair and pyjamas rumbled from his Sunday lay in. "Y'know Mum's going to make more than enough food tomorrow. She'll be offended if we show up with anything."

"It's not for tomorrow," Hermione said, turning away from the window to go back to the counter where she'd placed four baking dishes. "My mum always made pudding for my grandparents for Christmas, but since she and my dad stayed in France, I'm taking on the tradition myself."

Ron pushed himself out of the archway and shuffled his way to the counter. "And you make one for each of them?" he asked.

"No." Hermione grabbed one of the dishes out of his sceptical stare and set it next to the butter she had set out to grease them. "I'm making them for your grandparents too." Before Ron could even get out a full groan, she said, "It's a shame you don't spend more time with them in general. I never even met them until Victoire's christening. The least we can do is send them a Christmas pudding."

"I sign the Christmas card each year," Ron grumbled as he grabbed a mug and filled it to the top with coffee from the pot. Both of them had become hopelessly addicted after working full-time jobs, and Hermione couldn't help but feel relieved her parents had decided to stay in France where there was a less of a chance of hearing reprimands for the habit.

As she finished greasing the last dish and started slicing the panettone, she added, "You're lucky to even still have grandparents left. Visiting them every once in a while wouldn't hurt."

She heard him take a loud slurp. "I don't see you visiting your grandparents any chance you get. Or even your parents for that matter."

Hermione's shoulders stiffened, the knife in her hand freezing over the bread. "My family was never big on seeing each other," she said in a tight voice, trying to let the comment about her parents go. She would never not feel like it was her fault her parents didn't want to return to England. "I just think it's nice when a family makes time for each other."

Her knife thudded against the cutting board as it sliced through the bread, but before she could pick it up again, Ron pressed up against her back, his chin resting on her shoulder and hands sliding down her arms. "If that's what you like, you're dating the right bloke."

A smile bloomed across her face, and her shoulders relaxed against his chest. Even with his breath smelling bitter and his fingers strained multicoloured from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Hermione wouldn't have changed anything about him. No one else could piss her off then make her smile as fast as he did.

The knife's blade cut into the next slice, wobbling and slicing too thin at the end when Ron's hands drifted down from her shoulder blades to waist. Hermione tried to continue her task, but then his lips kissed her neck, the tip of his nose brushing away her hair. "I'm going to cut off a finger," she said.

"You should put the knife down then," he said, his fingers skimming the bottom of her shirt.

With a sigh, Hermione dropped her head back against his collarbone. "Are you trying to distract me?"

His hands clasped together in front of her stomach, and he pulled her closer. "I thought you liked being distracted."

"When I don't have four puddings to make, maybe," she said. Ron nuzzled his nose into her hair, not giving up yet. She added, "This might go a little faster if you helped."

"I would," he mumbled against her scalp, "but I'm assuming you want these puddings to be edible."

Hermione chuckled but successfully pushed herself out of his grasp as well. He gave her one final sloppy kiss on the check, and expecting him to head back to bed or to the table where the Daily Prophet sat, Hermione watched Ron with raised eyebrows as he went to the mixing bowl she'd set out and began emptying in the ingredients she'd placed beside it. She didn't realise she was staring in awe until Ron looked over at her. "What?"

"Nothing," Hermione said, shaking her head and attempting to go back to her cutting. She glanced back a moment later to make sure she hadn't been seeing things. Ron was actually cracking eggs and dribbling in vanilla without even measuring, which might have annoyed her if he didn't look so confident in his proportions. And he wasn't even using a single spell! "I didn't know you could cook," she blurted out.

Ron smirked as he whisked the mixture. "Always the tone of surprise," he said, stirring a bit of guilt in Hermione for underestimating him. "I helped Mum a lot when I was a kid. Some of it stuck, I guess."

"Seven months living together, and I'm only now finding out about this?"

"You never asked," Ron said with a shrug, though a teasing smile still graced his face. "Who d'you think did all the cooking at Grimmauld Place? Sure as hell wasn't Harry. I can see why the Dursley's weren't fond of him if that's what he was serving them."

"You're so insensitive," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes as she returned to slicing the panettone, but then added, "So you'll cook for Harry but not for me?"

"I was an Auror when I lived with Harry. Now I'm at the shop with the Leaky Cauldron one street away. Takeaway is hard to resist when you've been smelling it all day. Plus, I can get a discount if Hannah's working." The rhythmic tapping of the whisk against the mixing bowl loomed closer until Hermione felt his arm bump against hers. "You aren't mad, are you?"

She smiled at the tenderness in his voice, glancing away from her cutting to give him a reassuring grin. "Of course not. I'll just have to ask you to make dinner more often."

"You'll have to show me around the kitchen first," he said, setting down the mixing bowl and looking around at the cupboards. "Is there any nutmeg in here? Or cinnamon, at least?"

Hermione blinked at him. "Yes, uh, in the spice drawer."

"Right, would've never been able to figure that out myself," he said with a smirk. "Which one have you designated for spices?"

"Oh, um, this one here." She reached to her right and pulled open the narrow cupboard that housed every bottle of spices and seasonings that she owned.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," Ron said as he crouched in front of it. "You've got all this and weren't going to add any to the puddings?"

Hermione's knife slid sideways again, cutting off a misshapen slice. She never expected to hear baking advice from Ron. "My mum and I never put any in before."

Ron shook his head as he grabbed two bottles from the shelf. "You've got to add something for taste," he said, sprinkling generous amounts of each spice into the mixing bowl.

"I'll make a note of that," Hermione said as she finished off the last slice of panettone.

"Y'know, I can't tell whether you're joking or not."

Before long, the four pudding were lined-up in the tiny oven, spaced evenly thanks to an Expanding Charm. Hermione barely set the timer before Ron pulled her back into his arms and into the tiny lounge where they unwrapped each other as an early Christmas present. The puddings may have turned a little more brown on the top than usual that year, but Hermione remained loyal to her conviction that the year was still a pretty fantastic one.