"There’s literally a cloth right there – why are you – never mind." He smirked, washing his own hands, and then drying them on the kitchen cloth. "Gingerbread – it’s this stuff." He pointed at the piles of gingerbread that were cooling on the side of the kitchen bench. Ginny, in all her goodness, had spent the morning baking batches and batches of gingerbread men and gingerbread house kits for the children to design. "We do this every Christmas Eve."