"C'MON GINNY!" Ron roared up the stairs, his voice amplified by his Sonorous spell. "EVERYONE'S WAITING TO OPEN THEIR PRESENTS! GET A MOVE ON!"

Rolling her eyes, she tied the sash of her dressing gown and sat back down on the edge of the mattress. With a not-so-gentle finger, she prodded her husband in the ribs. His only response was to groan, turn over onto his stomach and pull the duvet over his head.

"Come on, lazy, get up."

"Malfoys don't do mornings," he grumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Hmm, they seem quite happy to do Weasleys though, if this is anything to go by," she retorted, pointing at the small bruise at the junction between her neck and shoulder. The whole bed shook as he laughed to himself.

"Well I wasn't entirely unencouraged."

She smirked.

"Tell me how I came to agree to this?" he moaned.

"What? Having my family stay here for the holidays?"

"Mmm."

"As I recall you decided that it might improve relations with my brothers."

"I must have been drunk."

"Well, now that you mention it, I do seem to remember the idea first coming up when you staggered home after Greg's bachelor party. Of course, after that you tried to maul me, then fell asleep on top of me."

"Malfoys do not maul!" he said, his injured tone even managing to make it past the duvet.

"Oh, it was mauling. Trust me." She giggled. "Didn't hear me complaining though. Well, not until you fell asleep half-way through, anyway."

He groaned. "Christmas morning and you're ripping my fragile male ego to shreds. I expect some recompense, witch."

She grinned to herself. He had no idea...

At that moment, a muffled roar sounded in the corridor, getting closer to their room every second. As it got closer, it got louder and elucidated itself into a slurred string of "Mumumumumumumumumumumumumumum!"

The main door to their suite crashed open and bounced off the wall, closely followed by their bedroom door, which Ginny could have sworn she had locked the night before.

A blur of navy blue and blond hurtled towards their bed and took a flying leap from three feet away. The mattress dipped and rolled as their small son scrambled across to his buried father. Putting his hands on Draco's back, he bounced up and down chanting, "It's Christmas, it's Christmas! Come on, Mother, come on, Father. Presents!"

Smiling at her son, Ginny held out her arms and he propelled himself into them. "Merry Christmas, Mother!"

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart." She hugged him to her chest and kissed the top of his blond, one-hundred-percent-Malfoy head.

He struggled against her embrace, and when she let him go, he threw himself at his father. Draco, who by now had given up any possibility of a lie-in, was sitting up, leaning against the pillows and looking thoroughly tousled. Looping an arm around his enthusiastic son, he gave him a hug.

"Merry Christmas, Alexander."

"It's okay, Uncle Ron!" the boy called. "It's safe to come in."

So that was how the door was unlocked. She was sorely tempted to transfigure Ron’s Christmas present into a lump of coal, just to teach him a lesson.

After poking his head around the door, Ron ambled in in his pyjamas, looking every bit as rumpled as Draco. Clearly Paige had been responsible for his wake-up call that morning.

Ginny raised an eyebrow at her brother.

"What? I tried calling you. Besides, sending Alex was Charlie's idea! I was just being a good uncle and keeping an eye on him."

Ron’s innocent expression wasn't convincing, so Ginny threw a cushion at him.

"All right, all right, we're up," Draco groused. Addressing his son, he said, "How about you go back downstairs with Uncle Ron and find everyone a present? Show Grandma how well you're doing with your reading, and we'll be down in a few minutes, okay?"

"Okay!" Bouncing off the bed, Alex took off at a run, dragging Ron after him.

There was silence for a few moments, then Draco said, "Good job he didn't try to get in the bed. Could have been awkward." Then he smirked and Ginny lost it completely, a fit of the giggles robbing her of breath for a good five minutes, during which Draco found himself some pyjamas, a dressing gown and slippers, and threw Ginny a nightdress and some knickers.

Descending the stairs hand-in-hand, they went to join the melee grouped around the Christmas tree.

Twelve hours later and Christmas day was just about over. Molly Weasley's cooking had been as exemplary as ever, albeit with a little help from the manor house elves. Much alcohol had been consumed. The kids had spent all day playing with their presents, sledging on the grounds, and pelting their myriad of siblings and cousins with snowballs, and were now either in bed (as was the case with the younger members of the family), or dozing on the comfy sofas in the lounge. The adults on the other hand, had retired to the study and drawing room respectively.

The men had disappeared to Draco's study to drink coffee and whiskey, smoke cigars, play chess and discuss manly things like Quidditch, and to compare notes on dealing with pregnant spouses in an attempt to help George with his first.

The women had retired to a large drawing room with the bottles of Advocaat and Irish Cream Liqueur and were cackling like, well, witches, as they gossiped and shared stories of their children, men-folk, and, to reassure Alicia, pregnancies. After a brief hiatus when various mothers disappeared to usher their recalcitrant offspring off to bed, the talk turned lewd and the giggling became great guffaws as each man was stripped of his dignity - the favourites being Draco and Harry - being as they were, not of the Weasley mould.

When everyone finally wandered off to bed and fuzzy-headed husbands returned to smirking wives, Ginny gave a few instructions to the house elves and nipped up to the master bedroom to prepare her last Christmas gift to her husband. Knowing he would be busy with his customary 'Security sweep' for at least the next quarter of an hour, she had a quick shower and changed into the pretty satin and lace nightgown that had been one of Draco's Christmas gifts to her.

Their gifts were laid out on the low table by the fire, and she paused to run her fingers over the box containing the beautiful gold and emerald necklace and earrings that had been labelled in Alex's shaky hand - 'To Mum, lots of love, Alex'. Draco swore in front of everyone that he'd picked it himself. Smiling to herself, she picked up the card and traced her fingers over the scratchy letters. He was getting so big - every time she looked at him, she could barely reconcile the healthy, rambunctious boy with the tiny, bald newborn that had wailed in her arms moments after his birth. Feeling the sting of tears in the back of her eyes, she gave a shaky laugh and put the card down. She was getting stupidly sentimental and emotional in her old age.

Rooting around in her underwear drawer, she found the small package she'd been hiding. A tremor of anticipation fluttered through her stomach and her fingers felt slightly trembly as she laid it carefully on his pillow. It was stupid, really, how nervous she felt, she really ought to be better at this after all their years of marriage.

When Draco slipped fluidly into the room a few minutes later, she was propped against the bolster reading one of the books Hermione had given her. Lowering the tome, she gave him what she hoped was a seductively searing look from under her lashes. It was quite effective if the slow smirk she received in return was anything to go by. When Draco had foreshortened his usual nightly grooming routine, and slipped into bed wearing nothing but an easily discarded robe, she calmly marked her place, put the book down, and turned towards him.

He'd discovered his gift, and was turning it over in his hands, his brow furrowed.

"What's this?" He asked, a playful tint colouring his voice. She just knew that he was imagining all sorts of delightfully naughty things, and she had to fight very hard to keep the grin off her face at his miscalculations.

"Open it and see," she replied, lowering her voice half an octave and leaning towards him with her cleavage spilling over the top of the nightgown.

He swallowed hard, and she was pleased to see that his fingers trembled as he fumbled with the spellotape. She still had it, then. Even after all this time.

When the wrapping was removed and discarded onto the floor, he turned the little box over and gave her a look that said 'I love you, but what on earth are you on, and when are we going to get on to the sex?'

She'd deliberately packaged it in a plain brown box just because she loved seeing his 'confused' face. Although now she was wishing she hadn't bothered, because her own hands were shaking and it had very little to do with arousal.

Smiling indulgently at her, he opened the box and pulled out the object inside. Now he was really baffled. In his hand sat a small soft toy, a representation of a cat with a little loop of ribbon sticking out of its back. The sort of toy that was hung in a pram or bassinet. She saw the realisation dawn when his pursed lips began to curve into a smile. A bright, excited, childlike smile of pure joy.

Placing the little cat reverently on his bedside table, he extinguished the lamps with a wave of his hand. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her passionately, pouring his love and unadulterated pleasure into the action. He always took her breath away, and when they broke apart and she looked up at him in the flickering half-light cast by the fire, she thought her heart might burst with all the things he made her feel. Burning, searing desire, love and happiness swirled through her body and she arched into his embrace.

"Merry Christmas Draco," she whispered.

"Yes, I do believe it is," he replied softly before claiming her lips once again in worship and adoration.