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    Summary

    When Harry tumbled through the floo after a very long Christmas Eve shift at Mungos, he had to stop and look around because their house looked so different.

    That morning, the tree had been the only sign that they were approaching Christmas at all. Now the banister was wrapped in garlands, lights twinkled merrily around the room, the fire crackled warmly in the newly-decorated hearth. The room smelled like fresh-baked gingerbread, and a moment later Harry saw why.

    There on the table, were some of the most lovely gingerbread cookies he'd ever seen. Set out with a glass of milk for Santa. His mouth watered with anticipation.

    He wondered for a moment if he'd fallen through the floo into the wrong house.

    A moment later, Harry found himself wondering if he'd just fallen asleep. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd fallen asleep on his feet outside of a patient's room. Not that he'd tell anyone that. But still.

    But Harry wasn't going to try to wake himself, not when the sight that met his eyes was that of his lovely husband wearing... very little.

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