December 25th 1902

The harsh British weather was as unforgiving that Christmas as it had been all winter, snow continuing to fall heavily from the sky whilst a bitter wind seemed to make the thick storm of flakes move in all directions. The barren landscape was enveloped in a blanket of white disturbed only by the sturdy structure of Coralline Manor, its grey stone walls impenetrable to the cold.

A warm yellow glow seeped out of one of the downstairs windows as a welcoming fire burnt in the hearth, two small figures hunched beside it with eyes blinking rapidly in an attempt to fight off sleep. To the left side of the fire there was a worn, burgundy armchair in which sat a young woman with an unruly mop of dark curls pulled into a neat up-do, her ice-blue eyes staring intently at the dancing flames as she played with the peach material of her skirts. Beside her in a similar seat sat a boy of around seventeen years, his brunette curls slightly lighter than hers and his eyes the colour of grass.

Beyond this sat their mother on a matching sofa who fondly stroked the chocolate ringlets of the son who's head rested in her lap, her other arm loosely encircling his sister as she absent-mindedly hummed to them. The only other seat in the room was a large, mahogany rocking chair to the right of the fireplace in which sat the man of the house and the youngest of the brood.

Erik lazily rocked himself back and forward whilst taking care not to wake the toddler in his arms, smiling as he heard the muffled snoring from his three-year-old son begin to ebb. The room remained quiet and he hoped to keep it that way, if only for a little while longer, after the festivities of the day had taken their toll. He was getting too old for the crack of dawn wake up call, the rush to get to the presents, the snowball fights in the garden whilst Christine pottered about the kitchen roasting vegetables and seeing to the turkey – but this peaceful company at the end of the day made it all worthwhile.

His gaze strayed to watch his oldest, Isobel, as she curled her legs up under her on the other side of the room whilst wrapping her arms around herself and continued to watch the dancing feathers of light. He could still remember when it had only been himself, Christine and Isobel that first Christmas at Coralline Manor. Isobel's first Christmas, 1882, had been spent at the Girys' Paris townhouse where she'd been born, for her mother had been in the middle of annulment proceedings and needed to stay to oversee them. As such Christine had felt they ought to make a proper holiday of it the following year when they'd settled into the Manor, feeling guilty though Erik had assured her their daughter would have no recollection of it all. Nonetheless that first year had set the standard for every Christmas that followed and she dutifully prepared the full dinner and trimmings for four o'clock in the afternoon on the dot each and every time, the quantities growing along with their expanding family.

He wasn't sure how they'd ended up with quite so many children, now he thought about it. He'd always assumed he would end up alone so Erik himself hadn't had any prior thoughts of offspring, Christine on the other hand had felt the need to surround herself with them in order to give them the unconditional love and care she'd been robbed of as a child. In a way she saw it as a sort of therapy, a way to come to peace with her past and who was he to deny her that?

As he looked around at their faces now he could recall Christine telling him when she found out about each one of her pregnancies, remembered each nervous wait in this very rocking chair as she gave birth just a ceiling away from him, could even picture the first time he saw each of those seven little faces staring back at him.

"Papa," The soft call from the mop of dirty-blonde curls in his lap caught his attention. "Is it morning already?"

Erik chuckled as he raised one long finger, no longer the boney digit it had once been thanks to his wife's nurturing, to stroke his son's rosy cheek. "Not quite, Rémi – but I think it's high time you went to bed, hmm?" The little boy tried to shake his head in protest but a wide yawn suggested otherwise. Gently he shifted so he had his son in one arm before pushing himself up with the other arm and heading toward the door.

"Speaking of bed, I think it's time you all headed up as well," Christine spoke, gaining a groan from the two forms that had been lounging on her as she stood to join her husband. "Henri, Élodie come on now – I won't have you sleeping on the sofa all night." Her attention turned to the silent girls sat in front of the fire. "Colette? Amélie? You were both up well before dawn this morning, you must be exhausted."

"No, Maman, we're not!" The younger girl whined, her dirty-blonde hair falling in wisps across her face as she spun round. "If we have to go to bed now then Christmas will be over!"

"Now, now Colette don't argue with your mother," Erik chipped in, having remained in the door way. He tipped his head in the direction of the stairs and raised an eyebrow. "Up to bed, all four of you." He tried to remain looking stern as the four reluctantly shuffled past him and up the stairs, Christine flashing him a grateful smile as she followed behind them. Before leaving, he quickly turned to Isobel and Gustave, their two oldest, who'd remained seated: "We'll be back down in a minute."

Gaining a nod from both, he then carried Rémi up the stairs and turned right down the corridor and through the door at the very end. Henri was alone in the room pulling his night shirt on with a bleary-eyed expression and then stood by the sink (he'd installed them in all the bedrooms when they'd first moved over to the manor permanently) to brush his teeth. Setting Rémi down on his feet, Erik reached under the boy's pillow to pick up the small, red and white striped night shirt and knelt down in front of his son. He delicately undressed the young boy before pulling the night clothes over his tousled hair and gently directing him to the sink to help him brush his teeth. Soon both boys were in their respective beds and Erik lightly tucked each of them in, pulling the blankets up to their shoulders as Christine had taught him when they first got Isobel to sleep in a bed.

"Goodnight, Papa," Henri murmured as he snuggled deeper into his pillow, his dark curls spread across the cotton. Smiling, Erik planted a kiss to his son's forehead and whispered his response before repeating the routine with Rémi and quietly leaving the room, switching the light off and pulling the door to behind him.

He walked back down the corridor a little way to the next door along and entered to find Christine, Amélie and Colette in hysterics, all sat on the floor whilst Élodie skipped around them in her petticoats, tossing her chocolate coloured hair whilst pouting her lips and claiming this was how Isobel had shown her a 'proper lady' behaves. He leant against the doorframe with a bemused expression before his youngest daughter's green eyes spotted him and she pointed up, stopping her impression to excitedly yell: "Papa would agree with me!"

He laughed as he responded; "I can't say I've ever met a proper lady if that's how they act," he grinned and knelt in front of Élodie, whose face crumpled into one of defiance.

"But Issy said so, Papa! She showed me how they walk and everything," By now the three other occupants of the room had calmed down and were now watching the exchange.

"I bet that's not how she was walking!" Colette chimed in, never at a loss for words.

"It is!" Élodie retorted sticking her tongue out at her older sibling.

"Enough now, the pair of you," Christine lightly scolded. "Finish getting changed for bed now please, I think we've all had enough excitement for one day."

"Honestly, you're both such children," Amélie sighed dramatically as she set about getting out of her day attire.

"Oh please, you're only thirteen – you're a child too!" Colette answered in good humour as she slipped on her pale pink night gown and sat on her bed as she began to brush her fine, golden locks.

Erik sat beside her and took the brush from her hands to take over. "I think your mother told you to stop this bickering - all of you."

"I did stop Papa!" Élodie protested as she stepped up to the sink and allowed her mother to brush her hair whilst she did her own teeth.

"I know you did, ma petite," He spoke softly as he focused on the task at hand, checking out the corner of his eyes to ensure Amélie was doing as she was told – not that he needed to worry, she was always the better behaved of the girls.

It was around five minutes before he was pulling the blankets up and pressing chaste kisses to each of the girl's cheeks, smiling as each of them cheerily bid him goodnight. Élodie clung to his arm as he got up to leave, begging him to stay and sing for them – the other two joining in with her pleas once they'd started. Christine slipped out the room, off to say goodnight to the boys no doubt, and so Erik sat and stroked his young daughter's hair as he sang the lullaby he'd used on each of his seven children since they were babies. It only took a few bars before Élodie had drifted off and soon enough he heard the deep, regular breathes coming from the other two beds as well.

Peeling the small fingers from his wrist, Erik quietly left the room after stealing one final glance at his daughters. Christine was just emerging from the boys' room at the end of the corridor and smiled as she came over to him, his arm slipping round her waist whilst he pressed a kiss into her curls. He could see the strands of silver that were starting to creep into the chocolate-y tones.

"I don't know how you manage to get them all to calm down, you know," She spoke softly so as not to wake any of the children. "I always seem to end up in fits of laughter for one reason or another when I'm putting Élodie to bed."

Erik pulled back so he could look into the pale green eyes that glistened in the half light of the hall. "I suppose I'm just the better parent." He remarked sarcastically, earning a light slap to his chest as he grinned.

The two headed back downstairs together and found that Isobel had moved to lounge along the length of the sofa, whilst Gustave remained in the same seat as before, and the two were in companionable silence. Erik made to return to his rocking chair and once he was settled he allowed his wife to perch on his knee, her right arm draped around his neck so her hand could lightly caress his scarred cheek. Since moving to England Christine had managed to convince him to stop wearing the mask inside the house and whilst he'd been worried as to his young daughter's reaction, Isobel hadn't even noticed the difference. The rest of them hadn't ever known him to wear the garment around the house and as such it was only when they went out into the city that he wore the mask around his family. It was such a simple thing, to be able to walk undisguised amongst people, and yet it was something he'd never experienced till then – near to twenty years on and he couldn't imagine life without it.

At the touch of her other hand on his chest he looked up into Christine's face and noted all the lines and creases that had come as she aged, none of which took away from her beauty. Erik couldn't help but move his head to plant a kiss on the soft fingers that rested against his face, causing Christine to giggle.

"Oh, please stop," Isobel cringed, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised as she stared at her parents. "I should be able to relax in my home without having to watch my parents act like giddy young lovers."

"What do you mean act like? Youth is all in the head, my dear," Erik winked causing his daughter to snort, her lips smirking as her eyes returned to the fire. He couldn't help but notice the echoes of himself in the gesture, as he often did when it came to their oldest. Early on it was clear she'd seemed to inherit a lot of Erik – his sarcasm, his quick wit, his short temper, his intelligence in particular had helped her flourish as a child, able to hold a simple conversation at one year old.

Of course Isobel also harboured a love for music like both her parents, as did all their children – how could they not when growing up around it. Isobel was the first to master the piano but Gustave was fast behind her, in spite of being three years younger. All seven of the children knew how to coax a few simple tunes out of the old baby grand Erik had managed to squeeze into his study downstairs, even three year old Rémi, but it was Élodie who'd taken an interest outside of the instrument and the vocal lessons both Christine and himself gave the children, pleading with her father to teach her the violin till he'd eventually given in and bought her one for her seventh birthday that year.

"Right," Isobel pushed herself up from the settee with a gaping yawn before lightly rubbing her eyes. "I think it's time I called it a night – got to be up early if you're taking me into London for the day, Papa." The blue eyes that matched his own gleamed in anticipation for the annual trip, a tradition he'd started when Gustave had first been born to stop Isobel from becoming jealous of the attention the baby garnered.

"Seven thirty at the latest – I don't want to get caught in the late morning rush," he responded as his daughter came to press a kiss to his cheek.

"Yes, yes – as you wish, though it's hardly my fault if I'm late, after all looking this good takes time," She joked before giving a wave from the doorway. "I'll see you in the morning! Goodnight Maman." Her eyes travelled to her brother who'd slumped over in the chair and was breathing deeply. Rolling her eyes, Isobel moved back into the room and gently shook his shoulder to get the boy to stir. "Your back will be as bad as father's if you sleep there."

With that she slipped out the room quickly followed by Gustave who sleepily bid his parents goodnight, leaving them alone together. Christine leant down to whisper in his ear: "Perhaps it's time we went upstairs as well, especially if you're going to be up early." Erik agreed and said he'd be up in a moment, watching her go before he tended to the fire, putting it out and ensuring the embers all burnt out.

He dragged his weary bones up the staircase, being careful not to make too much noise in the otherwise silent house. Turning left and pushing open the mahogany door to the master bedroom he saw their en-suite light was on and headed toward it without a sound. Christine stood in front of the sink staring into the mirror, her expression anxious as she leant toward the mirror and lightly stroked a finger under one of her eyes before sighing.

"You need to stop worrying about aging," Erik scolded causing her to jump and flash him a mock-angry expression before turning back to her reflection. "You're only thirty eight, after all."

"I wasn't worrying about wrinkles till you mentioned it," She peered at herself again. "I was looking at the great big bags under my eyes." He walked to stand behind her, his arms wrapping round her waist as he rested his head on her shoulder and watched their reflections. It still surprised him how great an effect Christine's acceptance of his face had had on his own attitude to his disfigurement – he'd never have guessed he'd look at his own face in the mirror without recoiling. "Erik?"

"Yes," he looked at her green eyes in the mirror and softly kissed her shoulder. There was a time when they'd first been together that he wouldn't dare lay a hand on Christine without her initiating the contact but nowadays, after twenty years and seven children together, Erik found himself more comfortable about it all.

"There is one more present I forgot to mention to you," She smiled brightly at the confused expression he gave her. Turning her head, she kissed his cheek before pressing her lips close to his ear and breathing the words: "You'll have to wait a few more months for it though."

His eyes grew wide as he spun her round to face him and looked down at her abdomen before his blue gaze returned to meet her own, the question remaining unspoken between them as she nodded to confirm it. The two embraced before Erik pressed a kiss to his wife's lips, a passionate expression of the magnitude of the love he felt for her in that moment, in every moment he spent with her. Christine returned the gesture with enthusiasm, her arms winding their way around his neck, giggling slightly at his excited response to the news.

"I thought you might not be quite so animated about it," She added when they parted to catch their breath. "You're always grumbling about being too old for it all!"

"It's all in jest," He replied tenderly, his hand cupping her cheek. "You know I love every one of our children, I wouldn't trade our family for anything. Whether there's seven, or eight, or twenty of them!"

Christine laughed at his comment, her eyes gleaming with warmth. "I knew I loved you for a reason."

And so the couple continued to embrace, trading kisses and loving words before eventually retiring to their bed and drifting off to slumber clasped in one another's arms. Erik's final thoughts as he slipped into unconsciousness, his cheek resting against her soft chocolate curls, were all of his wife, his seven children and now the future addition to their ever-growing family…

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THE END

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This was possibly the most I've enjoyed writing a chapter because I loved trying to think all the little tit bits about their life together etc. and it was probably the happiest chapter I've written as well. I considered writing a bit about the Girys and Raoul, even started it a couple of times, but then I decided this worked better as a chapter without. Extra info for anyone interested:

Children:

Isobel (20) – dark hair, pale blue eyes

Gustave (17) – brunette, green eyes

Amélie (13) – dirty-blonde hair, green eyes

Colette (11) – dirty-blonde hair, bright blue eyes

Élodie (7) – brunette, green eyes

Henri (5) – brunette, green eyes

Rémi (3) – dirty-blonde hair, bright blue eyes

? – you decide!

The Girys - Madame Giry, Meg and her husband Francis (the doctor for those wondering) still live in the town house, the two women working at the refurbished Opera House whilst Francis continues as a doctor. They don't have children at the point in this point in the story, but Meg is only 38/39 like Christine so there's still time – you can make up your own minds whether they do or not!

As for Raoul… I can't decide whether or not he remarried, if he did it's not quite like his first marriage, his new wife, introduced to him by his sisters no doubt, is far more proper and suited to the lifestyle of an aristocrat which means she gains approval from his family more easily than Christine ever did, but that makes him feel obliged to love her rather than being in love with her. However she gets on well with his family etc. and they have a daughter (their only child) so he is grateful for that. If he didn't remarry, well I reckon he'd just have moved on with life, being a great uncle etc. to his sister's children and everything, continuing as a patron for the arts of Paris, including the refurbished Opera House. The one time he saw Christine, when she was 28, he was in London on business and spotted her in the streets, with her family (Erik and four children at that point) – he merely watched as they walked by, they didn't notice him across the road. He also eventually promotes Marie to housekeeper rather than a maid, once his old one retires, so she gets a better life as well. She remains close with the Girys, I reckon they spend holidays and such together, she becomes like another daughter to Madame Giry.

So that's it. Thank you, each and every person that has read and persevered with this story, I apologise that it took so long to finish but I hope it was worth struggling to the end. This is the longest fic I've ever published and I'm just so grateful I've had such positive feedback from it all. Thanks from the bottom of my heart :)