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It started the first time Harry had to go an overnight mission after he and Ginny had started living together.
"Didn't bring me back a souvenir?" She laughed, gently tracing the pink newly healed scratch on his face.
He relaxed into her touch, but his voice was still tense: "Didn't think you'd want one like this."
"And still couldn't bring yourself to find something else?" She raised an eyebrow.
He sighed, reaching into his robes' pocket, producing a blade of grass. "Your something else," he said with a flourish.
"The best gift I've ever received," she promised mock seriously, even as she tucked it away safely.
It became a running joke. Every time Ginny had to go to play elsewhere - and later to report - or Harry had an assignment, they'd bring each other something small, mostly stupid and very random.
A collection of stones formed that one day Al would delight over. Small bits of cloth from streamers and confetti in the match, enchanted dice used in the den he'd raided, sweet wrappers, a stuffed frog that Ginny could not believe could jump so far when pressed down without magic, a Potter Harpies jersey, flowers that would never wilt, a pen that had clearly been taken apart and put back together multiple times, a World Cup snitch, and once an entire cat that did not get along with their dog.
Ron never tired of saying he found it incredibly stupid. "Half the time you're just taking out whatever's in your pocket!" He pointed out.
"I think it's sweet," Hermione declared. "What did you bring for me, anyway?"
Ron had been diverted at that point.
Once when Harry had returned, wan and tired, clearly having forgotten all about it, he'd frozen and patted down his pockets, looking for something.
"Don't worry about it," Ginny assured him. "I have something for you."
Harry blinked. "Did you go somewh--" He broke off when he saw the positive muggle pregnancy test.
Ginny didn't often get nervous, but this moment would've been nerve-wracking for anyone.
"Well?" She asked wryly as her husband openly gaped.
Harry came closer, ducking down to kiss her fiercely, spinning her around before remembering and hurriedly putting her down, anxiously checking on her stomach.
"I love your presents," he said. "But I think this is the best one yet. How are you going to top this next time?"
The answer was a custom made apron with 'Chosen One promoted to Dad' printed on it and a World's Best Dad mug she'd had to persuade her coach to let her go to the muggle city for.
He'd teared up.
Years later, when their children were clearing out their house, trying to deal with their grief, they'd find all those souvenirs from all these trips neatly pressed into a scrapbook in order of gifting and receiving, with short notes about their circumstances - smiley faces and long paragraphs from their mother and gruff one-liners from their dad.
And they'd laugh and cry together, and from then on, would bring one another souvenirs every regular once-a-month dinner.