The room is silent and dark, less the occasional soft grunting noise or quiet rustling of bed covers, the slight sound of someone shifting or mumbling in sleep. Slowly, a line of dim yellow light falls onto the bed, growing wider, illuminating the two figures on the bed. One is burly and stocky, arm draped over the waist of the other, thin and freckled, nestled together in sleep.

And then suddenly there's a tiny missile launching at the bed, and said missile only seems capable of voicing one thought: "Daddy! Christmas!"

Startled out of sleep, Percy isn't even entirely awake before his arms are out, catching the missile and peering down at it with sleep-blurred blue eyes.

"Luce?" he asks, voice creaky. "What time is it?"

"Daddy!" Lucy repeats impatiently, squirming in his arms. "Daddy, it's Christmas!"

"Did you hear, Perce?" Oliver asks, grinning up at them as he sits up on one elbow, running a hand through his hair. "It's Christmas."

Percy shoots his partner a filthy look, then reaches for his glasses and puts them on, blinking to focus his eyes as he peers at the clock. "Lucy, it's five-thirty in the morning. Can't it wa - "

"Daddy." Lucy's tone is surprisingly Head Girl-like in its intensity, and for a four-year-old, she's got quite a glare on her. "It's Christmas."

Percy blinks at the intensity in his daughter's voice, and next to him, Oliver is either hacking up a hairball or trying very hard to stifle some snickers. Lucy is temporarily distracted, and she looks over at Oliver, brow furrowed.

"Is Papa okay?" she asks Percy, reaching out to pet Oliver's arm.

"I'm fine, Luce," Oliver tells her, capturing her tiny, porcelain hand in his large, tanned one. "But I think your dad has a point; you know Molly gets cranky if we wake her up too early. You don't want her to be cranky on Christmas, do you?"

"No," Lucy admits, and Oliver scoots away from Percy, patting the newly-vacant spot between them.

"Then spend some time with us, yeah? We'll get up soon and then we'll open presents."

Lucy frowns, contemplating this. "...okay. But I'm not sleepy."

"Of course you aren't," Percy chimes in, lifting her to the empty spot and pulling the covers up over her as well. "Which is why it'll only be for a little bit."

Five hours later, Oliver's got Lucy in his arms, her long, shiny hair falling along his shoulder as he carries her downstairs. She's still out like a light, and the camera clicks away as Percy gets photographic evidence of all of this. Molly can't seem to control her giggles, and she's got both hands pressed to her mouth to try and stop them. Percy shoots her a stern (but faintly amused) look over his glasses, and she snorts, then looks aghast at the noise she just made.

Once they're all settled in the living room, Oliver gently shakes Lucy's shoulder. "Luce," he says quietly, biting back a smile as she stirs in his arms. "Luce, come on, it's Christmas."

Like a switch flipping on, the 'C' word is all it takes for Lucy to be wide awake, looking around with huge dark eyes as she tries to process how she got from her fathers' bedroom down to the living room. Then her eyes light on the pile of presents beneath the brightly-decorated tree, and it's suddenly, immediately clear the 'how' doesn't matter anymore.

Molly, of course, insists on handing out presents because she's seven now, she's a big girl and she can read the labels all by herself. Percy sits behind her, reading the labels over her shoulder, but he doesn't help unless she specifically requests it.

"Who's ... 'Bighead Boy?'" she asks bemusedly, frowning at a package wrapped in bright orange paper. Oliver makes an alarming choking noise and Lucy whirls on his lap, concerned for her papa.

"'m fine," Oliver assures her in a sort of choked voice, clearly fighting back laughter.

Percy shoots Oliver a Look and reaches for the present. "That's for me," he says, plucking it from her hand. "It's a nickname your Uncle George has for me."

"Can I call you that?" Molly asks, apparently quite fascinated at the idea of her prim and proper daddy having a nickname. Oliver lets out what is unquestionably a bark of laughter.

"No," Percy tells Molly firmly. "I'd much prefer it if you didn't." He calmly unwraps the present, revealing a selection of goodies from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which everyone 'ooh's over. Once it's unwrapped, he very calmly balls up the paper and flings it at Oliver's face. Oliver bats it away and Lucy squeals as she catches it.

"You see that, Perce?" Oliver says proudly, patting her head. "She'll make a cracking Chaser one day."

There are other presents, of course: Weasley jumpers for everyone (initialed ones for Oliver and Percy, a unicorn for Molly, and a crown for Lucy), new dolls and clothes for the girls, top-of-the-line Quidditch gear for Oliver, and a swath of new inks for Percy.

"What are you going to do with all that ink, Daddy?" Molly asks, her tone making it quite clear that the doll she got from Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur (it speaks in English and French) is a far superior present.

"Re-color code my planner," Percy replies, quite enamored with the idea. "Aunt Hermione always knows precisely what to get."

The last presents are, as always, the gifts from the girls to their fathers. To Oliver, they give a painting of what appears to be a person on a broom - an impression validated by Molly's painstakingly neat handwritten title, which reads "Papa in the sky." Percy receives a long, thin box, and even though he knows precisely what's in it, he's still perfectly thrilled to get a pretty dove-grey tie.

Once the presents are all handed out and the girls are settled in and playing with their new dolls, Percy excuses himself to start dinner, and Oliver follows.

"Hey," he murmurs into Percy's ear, wrapping his arms around his partner's waist, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin just behind his ear. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas," Percy responds, leaning back against the other man. Oliver's hand moves gently over Percy's stomach in a sort of petting motion, and Percy sighs softly, arching into the touch.

"Got you something," Oliver murmurs, and Percy starts a little.

"Oliver, I thought we agreed - "

"It's nothing big." Oliver nuzzles at the redhead's ear again, then pulls away enough to slide out a drawer, where a small, flat package lies. He hands it to Percy, who takes it with an air of bemusement and unwraps it. There's a flash of gold, and as he pulls back the paper, he reveals a small, framed photograph of himself with Molly and Lucy. It's from a picnic during the summer, and he's got Lucy on his shoulders and holding Molly's hand, and the look on his face is one of pure, unguarded joy. The picture moves, and the Percy in the photo turns, spots the camera, then clearly mouths "Say hi to Papa!" before all three wave, and the photo loops again.

"Oliver," Percy breathes, eyes wet. Oliver grins.

"Thought your desk could use a new picture. Happy Christmas, love."

Percy's answer is lost in his enthusiastic kiss, and Oliver's grin against his mouth is apparent.

The kiss is broken by a shriek from the living room: "It's snowing! It's snowing!"

Trading smiles, they tangle their hands together and go back out into their own little happily-ever-after.