A/N: Day 10! This one is not quite angsty but definitely sappy. Enjoy!
"Harry?" Ginny calls as she steps out of the fireplace of 12 Grimmauld Place. She is sweaty and so very glad that only two more practices stand between her and the three whole days off Gwenog gave the team for Christmas.
The sitting room is quiet, and the only lights are those coming from the tree in the corner. Ginny smiles at it fondly, remembering the joy she felt a couple weeks ago as she and Harry had decorated it. Harry had teased her about all the paper chains she made, and she had threatened to hex him so that she didn't have to make the paper chains, and then they had kissed and kissed and slid to the floor and kissed…
Ginny shakes her head and, glancing at the clock, heads for the kitchen. At this hour, Harry is usually there, preparing dinner or keeping a plate warm for her. Her chest tightens at the thought of how well Harry cares for her, even after his long days in the Auror office.
At the door to the kitchen, Ginny stops short. Through the open door, she can see Harry, his back to her, standing at the counter next to two-and-a-half-year-old Teddy, who stood on a stool. They both had aprons on, Teddy's so long on him that there was a pool of fabric at his feet. Flour covers much of the countertop, and baking sheets filled with round cookies, some baked, some still doughy, are everywhere.
Ginny holds her breath, the sight so tender she fears she may cry. She hears Teddy's childish babbling and Harry kindly directing him. "Just like that, Teddy," he says, his hands over the toddler's as they press a cup into dough. A rolling pin rests next to Harry, on the far side from Teddy, and Ginny wonders how many times Harry's fingers were rolled before the tool was placed out of Teddy's reach.
Ginny leans against the doorframe, silently watching. There is dough on Harry's cheek and flour in his hair, stuck there unconsciously, no doubt, by his own hands. Teddy's hair is black today, as is common when in the presence of his godfather, and also has flour in it. The sleeves of his jumper, folded in an attempt at cleanliness, keep slipping down into the dough.
"You and I made Christmas cookies together last year, Teddy. Do you remember?" Harry asks, carefully lifting a cookie from the counter and placing it on a baking sheet. Teddy nods vigorously, his eyes glued to the cookie as Harry arranges it on the sheet just so. Ginny presses her lips together, holding in both a sigh and a laugh. Teddy is so solemn; the toddler is rarely this focused.
"It's called a tradition, Teddy, when families do certain things together every year. I didn't have many Christmases with my parents, and you never got one with yours, but this is something that you and I can do together," Harry murmurs as he helps Teddy cut another cookie. "No matter where I go on missions or how old you get, making Christmas cookies is our tradition."
A small sob escapes Ginny's throat. Merlin, she loves this man. Harry hears her and looks over his shoulder, alarmed, but he relaxes when he sees her. He motions with his head for her to join them, but Ginny shakes her head. Her heart, her throat, everything is too full for her to move, to speak. She smiles at him, wiping her eyes, and mouths, "I love you," to him from the doorway. He smiles, mouths it back, and returns his attention back to Teddy.