A/N: Takes place a few years after the Battle of Hogwarts. Canon compliant. This is my first fanfic, so please favorite and review! Thank you!
It was Christmas Eve, and Ginny Weasley was standing outside The Burrow's back door. Her hands were stuffed into the pocket of her green Holyhead Harpies sweatshirt, and an old Gryffindor scarf was wrapped around her neck. She had found the scarf on one of the coat hooks by the door, and she wasn't quite sure who it belonged to. It could be Ron's, or George's, or even Harry's – but she didn't think it was his, it didn't smell like him.
Leaning her head back against the uneven wood siding of the house, Ginny closed her eyes and breathed the cold, late-evening air in and out. She had been waiting outside for just about an hour, and was starting to grow anxious.
Suddenly, the noise she had been waiting for was heard in the silent darkness – a loud crack. Standing up straight, she relaxed at the distant sound of someone whispering Lumos, causing a bright light to illuminate a pair of feet walking briskly towards the house.
When the footsteps got closer, the light shone to reveal the face of Harry Potter. He was still wearing his Ministry robes under his long black winter coat, and a large duffel bag was thrown over his shoulder. His hair was just as untidy as usual, but now it was also dusted with snowflakes, and his round glasses enlarged his bright green eyes. Harry had grown a bit taller since his time at Hogwarts, so as he reached Ginny, his chin was level with the top of her head.
She hadn't seen Harry since November, when he had come to The Burrow for Bill's birthday. Their schedules rarely coincided, as Ginny had Harpies practice every day but Sunday, and Harry, being young and without dependents, worked long hours in the Auror Department.
"Hi." He said, smiling at her.
"You're late." she replied, attempting to sound annoyed, but a smile she couldn't contain crept onto her face as she crossed her arms over her chest.
"I am." said Harry.
"I've been standing out here for a long bloody hour waiting for you."
"Sorry," Harry began, "I stood in line to take the Ministry Floo for over an hour, but then when it was my turn to go, your fireplace was busy, and then…"
"Bill and Fleur brought Victorie by Floo. You must have tried to come through at the same time." Ginny said, cutting in.
"So then I apparated instead. I should have just done that from the beginning."
"Yes, that was stupid of you! You could have been here an hour ago if you had used your brain, Potter."
"It's freezing out here, shouldn't we go inside?" said Harry as rubbed the palms of his bare hands together.
"No! Why do you think I've been waiting outside for you? I want you all to myself for a few moments before you get swept up into the chaos of my crazy family." Ginny said with a laugh.
Inside the house, Mrs. Weasley was playing Celestina Warbeck's Christmas album, and the jazzy sounds of "Let It Snow" could be heard even outside where Ginny and Harry were standing.
"Alright then," said Harry, as he dropped his duffel back onto the snow-covered ground. He looped an arm around Ginny's waist and took one of her hands in his own. Harry spun them around in small circles, beginning what he thought was quite an excellent attempt at a slow dance. Ginny laughed out loud, her mouth opening wide and her long red hair tumbling down her back.
Seated inside The Burrow were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and from their seats at the kitchen table, they had a lovely view of the snow falling through the window. They each sipped a cup of hot tea, and bemused smiles clung to each of their faces as they watched Harry and Ginny go spinning past. Continuing to smile, Mr. Weasley excused himself from the table and headed to the living room where he comfortably sat himself in an armchair with the Muggle instruction manual, How to Build a Birdhouse for Beginners, which he had taken home from in the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley's face visibly relaxed, as she was relieved that Harry, the last member of her family, was finally home.
"I missed you," whispered Harry, bringing his head closer to her ear. "I can't go that long without seeing you again."
The pair was still slowly spinning in circles, but Ginny had inched herself closer, closing the awkward space between them.
"How long are you staying here?" she asked.
"Kingsley gave me off through New Year's Day, so I'll stay until your mum kicks me out I suppose," Harry smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
"Mum would never do that, she loves you more than Ron sometimes I reckon!"
"Is Hermione here?" asked Harry.
"She was, but she left a little while ago. She wanted to spend tonight with her parents. She's coming back tomorrow though." Ginny looked up at him and noticed that his face relaxed when he heard the news that he would get to see his friend. She also noticed there were gray circles under his eyes, and a fading bruise under his jawbone that she leaned up and kissed.
When she pulled back, Harry looked surprised, as if in the month since he'd last seen her he had forgotten what her lips felt like. "I missed you," he whispered again, this time bringing his head closer to her mouth.
Ginny kissed him then, really kissed him. They stopped spinning, and Ginny moved her hand from his shoulder to his hair, tugging the dark strands closer. She felt Harry grip her waist tighter, and he titled her chin up to touch his.
When she finally pulled away, she took his glasses with her, sticking them into the back pocket of her jeans.
"Now I can't see you!" Harry protested, laughing and reaching out in front of him in an attempt to find her face again.
"But they were pressing into my nose very uncomfortably." She said, laughing too. Ginny suddenly realized that for others, it was extremely rare to see Harry Potter without his round spectacles. They were a part of him, forever associated with his identity. She rather liked the idea of being one of the only people ever to see his face without them. Catching his searching hand in hers, she said, "I forgot how different you look without them."
"Good different, or bad different?" he asked jokingly.
"I think you actually look quite sexy."
That night, after Mrs. Weasley had fed Harry leftovers from supper, made him a cup of hot cocoa, and given him more hugs than possibly ever before, he and Ginny settled onto the couch – her head in his lap, his legs stretched out onto the coffee table in front of him. Ron sat in an armchair and George sat on the floor by the fire. They filled Harry in on the status of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes – the Christmas sales, the new products, even the woman who threw up all over Lee Jordan after accidently eating a Puking Pastille.
Bill and Fleur came downstairs after putting Victorie to sleep, reporting that Percy too had already gone to bed. Soon, a bottle of eggnog was passed around, which Ginny sat up from Harry's lap to drink.
Later, after Ron had grumbled a "good night" and gone upstairs, George following him, Harry and Ginny were the only ones left in the room. The fire had dimmed, just one log with a flame now, and the lights on the Christmas tree had been put out by the flick of someone's wand.
"Gin," Harry started, patting her head lightly, "do you think your mum will notice if we…" but when he looked down, he noticed that she too was asleep, her hands curled up close to her chest, the gold snitches on her pajama pants flying slowly around on the fabric.
Soon after midnight, Mrs. Weasley emerged from the downstairs bedroom, and turned on the kitchen faucet, summoning a glass from a nearby cabinet. When she turned around, sipping on the glass of water, she was startled by the figure sitting upright on the living room couch. Pulling out her wand, she crept slowly foreword, a disarming spell coming to mind.
But when she was close enough to the couch to see who was sitting there, she lowered her wand, upset with herself that she could be so distrusting in her own home. Old habits, she supposed.
Quietly, she removed Harry's glasses, folded them, and placed them on the table. Next, she slid a pillow beneath Ginny's head, and covered them both in a blanket. She noticed how long Harry's legs were, how strong her daughter's arms were. She noticed how mature they both looked with their hands in each other's.
Being the mother she was, a wave of sentimentality rushed over her, her heart not only aching for a Christmas when they were younger than 19 and 20 years old, but also pulsing proudly for the people they had grown to become.
