Work Text:
“—but I just don’t understand why she’s so resistant to the idea,” Ron was saying. “Whenever we’ve talked about it before, she’s never been so obviously opposed to it. Now, though, it’s like she’d rather . . .”
“Maybe she’s not ready right now,” Harry suggested.
“Yeah, maybe, but is anyone ever ready to have kids?”
“I reckon not,” said Harry, his thoughts drifting upstairs to his pregnant wife . . . who was laying in bed . . . what he wouldn’t do to crawl into bed next to her and sleep into oblivion . . . it had been such a long week at work . . . he just wanted to close his eyes. . . .
Ron fiddled with his wand, flipping it between his fingers. “Hermione and I, we’re the only ones who don’t have kids, or aren’t about to have kids,” he said quietly. “And it’s not . . . I don’t. . . .” He hesitated. “She says she wants to settle her career first, but isn’t it already settled? She’s worked at the Ministry for almost four years. I don’t know what she’s waiting for, unless she’s expecting to raise hell, stage a coup, and overthrow Kingsley at the ripe age of twenty-four.”
“I dunno what to tell you,” said Harry awkwardly. “Sometimes these things just happen.”
“Well, that’s what happened to you ,” Ron said, smirking. “But Hermione’s too self-aware for that to happen. She makes a potion every month and takes some weird Muggle pill ‘just to be safe.’”
“You never know,” he said, suppressing a yawn. “Look, I was just about to go to bed when you got here. You’re welcome to the couch, or anything in the kitchen—actually, I’ve been meaning to go to the supermarket, so good luck finding something edible in there—”
“Harry?” Ginny’s voice called down the stairs. “Are you talking to someone?”
“Ron,” Harry called back. “I was just about to come up—Ginny?”
Both men looked up, surprised to see Ginny standing in the doorway, her eyes blinking tiredly. “Ron,” she said, “why are you sitting in my kitchen?”
“Hermione and I had a bit of a row,” he said quickly, “but why are you—?”
“My water broke,” Ginny said through gritted teeth.
Harry sat up, suddenly more alert than he had been just moments before when he was listening to Ron. “Your water broke?” he said.
“You’re not due for another week,” said Ron.
“That’s not how it works,” said Ginny weakly. “I’m in labor now . It’s happening now .”
Harry bound out of his chair to Ginny’s side. “I’ll get Mum,” said Ron quickly, hurrying out of the room.
With Harry’s help, Ginny went back upstairs. Mrs. Weasley arrived soon after, springing into action and commanding in a way Harry had only seen when Fleur and Percy’s wife, Audrey, had been in labor.
“Arthur’s gone to get the mediwitch,” Mrs. Weasley said, walking into the room without a greeting, “and I’ve told Ron to tell Bill and Percy and George.”
Harry nodded, though the words didn’t quite sink in. Having birthed seven children herself and helped to deliver her three grandchildren, Mrs. Weasley was accustomed to what was to come. Harry, on the other hand, was utterly clueless. Thanks to Hermione’s graphic explanations (Harry had no idea how she was so educated about childbirth, especially having never experienced it herself), he understood contractions and pushing and the physical side of what Ginny was about to experience. What he didn’t know was how he could support her while also confronting that he was terrified by his rapidly approaching fatherhood.
“I’m going to go downstairs. Get you some water,” said Harry, squeezing Ginny’s hand and allowing Mrs. Weasley to take his place. He jogged downstairs and passed through the living room, where Ron’s head was engulfed in emerald flames.
“Mum wants everybody here,” Harry heard Ron saying as he continued into the kitchen. “You do have other employees who can take your spot. No, Angelina does not have to come if she doesn’t want to—you don't either, but then you’ll have to suffer Mum’s wrath and I don’t fancy telling her that you’d rather sleep than—ARGH!”
Harry jumped, sloshing water from the glass he was filling onto the floor. He pointed his wand at the spill and the water disappeared.
“—no, there’s someone on top of— HERMIONE!”
“I thought you’d be done by now,” said Hermione’s voice, “though I won’t deny that it gives me great pleasure to accidentally land on you after some of the choicest things you said to me tonight.” She wiped her feet on the mat in front of the fireplace and moved into the kitchen, not realizing that Harry was still standing there with a half-filled glass of water in his hand.
“Harry!” she greeted, waving her wand so that the glass flew out of his grip and landed on the counter before she rushed forward to hug him. “You must be so excited! I was going to make an Invigoration Draught closer to Ginny’s due date, but I haven’t got any Stewed Mandrake and Neville told me he’d give it to me tomorrow, so instead I’ve brought my coffee machine if you want some. Ron said that Bill and Percy and George are all coming, too, but that Ginny’s water’s only just broken, so I expect we’re in for a long night. It’s only half an hour until midnight, after all, and the first stage of labor can take anywhere from eight to eighteen hours—”
“Let the man breathe, Hermione,” said Ron stiffly from the doorway, his face covered in soot.
Hermione frowned. “Why have you got to put a damper on everything that I do?”
“I'm not! I—”
“I got a promotion at work, but did you know that? No! Because the second we sat down to dinner you started going on about kids , and how badly you want kids , and oh, didn’t I say before we got married that I wanted kids , but we still haven’t had kids , and everyone else has kids —”
“Well, they have!” said Ron angrily, but before the argument could continue, Mrs. Weasley called downstairs, “Ron! Have your brothers arrived yet?”
Ron shot a glare at Hermione, as if it were her fault that nobody else had walked through the fireplace, before answering, “No!”
“Er . . .,” said Harry uncomfortably, “Ginny probably would like to see you, Hermione. . . .”
“Ooh, yes,” Hermione said immediately, her scowl disappearing. Harry grabbed the water he’d come down for in the first place, gave Ron a pointed look when Hermione wasn’t paying attention, and led her upstairs.
Ginny was pleased to see Hermione but immediately asked what the ruckus had been downstairs. “Oh, I accidentally landed on him while he was Flooing George and then we had a bit of a row,” she said, waving it off. But Ginny was not convinced and questioned Harry about it as soon as Hermione left the room to make Harry and Mrs. Weasley coffee.
“It wasn’t a bit of a row,” said Harry quietly, so that Mrs. Weasley couldn’t hear. “They’re arguing about when to have kids.”
“Oof,” Ginny said. “Who’s in the right?”
“I'm not sure,” he said. “They've both got valid arguments. I don't want to have to take sides.”
“Then don't,” she said, smiling weakly. “You've got plenty of distractions right now if you don't want to get involved.”
Mrs. Weasley told Harry to leave the room so Ginny could rest before it was too late. Ginny started to protest but Harry slipped out of the room obediently; he didn't want his home to house more conflict than it already was with Ron and Hermione alone.
Bill was the first to arrive, settling himself in a chair by the fireplace. “It’s going to be awhile, isn’t it?” he said to Harry, who plopped down on the sofa across from him.
“The contractions haven’t started,” Harry said slowly, unsure if that was the correct terminology.
His phrasing seemed to make sense to Bill, though, because he sat back in the chair and closed his eyes. “I don’t know why Mum gets so mad at us if we’re not here the whole time,” he said. “It’s not like we’re contributing to anything. She nearly tore George apart because he couldn’t take off work when Dominique was born.”
“Coffee, Bill?” asked Hermione, handing Harry a steaming mug.
“I don’t think so, but thanks,” he said. “We’re in for a long night.” He opened his eyes and pointed at Harry, grinning. “You especially.”
Percy and George arrived a few minutes later, yawning but obeying their mother’s request. Ron disappeared to the bathroom for what could only be considered an unhealthy amount of time, but with Hermione swooping around the kitchen and living room delivering coffee to Percy and George and refilling Harry’s cup multiple times, Harry determined that Ron was avoiding another confrontation.
The low murmur of Percy and Hermione’s conversation had just begun to lull Harry to sleep when suddenly Mrs. Weasley bellowed, “HARRY! The contractions have started!”
He jerked, startled, then hurried up the stairs with whoops from Ginny’s brothers behind him. Mrs. Weasley passed him, mentioning that she needed to make sure Mr. Weasley had gone to fetch the mediwitch and not actually gone back to sleep.
Ginny was sitting up in bed, already looking exhausted but her face brightened when she saw Harry. “Is it over?” Harry asked, sitting down in a chair Mrs. Weasley had Conjured since he’d last been up here.
She nodded. “Yeah. Wasn’t too bad. Don’t worry, Mum has assured me that they’ll get worse.”
“Oh,” said Harry.
“Excruciatingly worse,” added Ginny. “If Fleur’s shouts are anything to go off—”
“—which they shouldn’t be—”
“—then I will probably have cursed you into nothingness by the time this baby is born,” she finished.
“Thanks for the warning,” Harry said, smirking. “Have you got everything you need? Can I get you anything?”
She thought a moment before answering. “Get Ron and Hermione to get along,” said Ginny, listening in to the crescendo of two familiar voices. “Their shouts are going to shatter the picture frames. And I don’t want them bickering when we ask them to be godparents.”
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll try my best.”
Mrs. Weasley burst into the room then, followed by a stern looking mediwitch. “Harry, you might want to step away for a moment, or you might get knocked in the face by a flying pillow,” Mrs. Weasley said seriously. “We’ve got to change the sheets.”
“Do I need to—?” Ginny began.
“No, no,” said the mediwitch crisply. “Just a simple Levitation Charm will do the trick, no need for you to get up.”
“I’ll go get that thing you wanted,” Harry said to Ginny, grinning knowingly. She returned his smile as he left the room.
Ron and Hermione’s argument seemed to have been put on hold upon Mr. Weasley’s arrival. He was now explaining, with great enthusiasm, how the Floo Network had been so busy that he had gotten stuck going between fireplaces for a quarter of an hour on his way to fetch the mediwitch, and another twenty minutes on the way here. “It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before! Your son picked a busy night to be born,” Mr. Weasley said, looking at Harry.
“An unexpected night, for sure,” Harry said.
“Ah, well,” said Mr. Weasley, clapping him on the shoulder, “these things never tend to happen at a convenient time to anyone.”
“At least it’s a Saturday,” Hermione chimed in. “None of us will have to take off work.”
“Hear, hear,” Percy agreed heartily.
“And why should that matter?” snapped Ron.
“It’s just a convenience, that’s all,” said Hermione stiffly.
Mr. Weasley looked between his son and daughter-in-law, confused, but resolved to not involve himself. “How’s Ginny?”
“Doing well,” said Harry, shrugging. “She’s only just had her first contraction.”
“Oh, it’s that early?” Arthur said. “I might as well go back to bed.”
“You’re all welcome to go home and get some rest,” Harry said quickly, trying to hide his enthusiasm for the idea. “Nothing’s happening right now and the baby won’t be here for awhile—”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to go to bed,” said Ron. “But you’re out of your mind if you think that Mum’s going to let any of us leave this house before this baby cries.”
Bill’s and George’s harmonizing snores seemed to agree.
“Coffee?” Hermione asked Mr. Weasley, standing up from her spot between George and Percy on the sofa.
“Yes, if you don’t mind,” said Mr. Weasley, following her into the kitchen. “It’s been a rather exhausting night.”
Harry took advantage of Hermione’s absence and sat in her spot directly across from Ron’s chair. “Listen,” he said, leaning forward so he wouldn’t wake the sleeping Weasleys in the room, “you and Hermione have got to get yourselves together.”
“I know,” Ron said.
“Tonight,” added Harry. “You’re a mess.”
“It’s been a long time coming,” admitted Ron sheepishly.
“I don’t know everything that’s going on with you two, and I don’t want to,” he said, “but you’ve got to stop jumping down her throat about everything. It’s really not helping your cause.”
“But—” He hesitated. “Do you think my point is valid? I tend to lose the sorts of rows, but I think I’m being reasonable . . . aren’t I?”
Harry didn’t want to answer. He had never benefited from taking sides when Ron and Hermione disagreed and was especially unwilling to get involved in anything after they had gotten married. “Look,” he said. “It’s not about winning an argument. It’s about trying to solve the problem together.”
“Yeah, for you and Ginny,” said Ron. “Hermione and I tend to. . . .”
“. . . have at it for a few days and then suddenly decide you like each other again?”
“That about sums it up, yeah.”
“But you never get to the root of why you’re fighting in the first place,” Harry said. “And before you ask again, both of you have valid points. It’s just—”
George abruptly jolted awake beside Harry as Mrs. Weasley yelled, “HARRY!”
Ron gave Harry a sympathetic look as he shot off to the bedroom, George still shaking his head from the suddenness of his wake-up.
Harry was beginning to regret accepting Hermione’s coffee.
He was trapped in a caffeinated limbo, wanting to sleep so badly while also wanting to be alert and awake for Ginny’s sake. The contractions were gradually growing closer together and more painful, yet all he could do was sit there helplessly and hold her hand. He was all too easily able to block out Mrs. Weasley’s discussions with the mediwitch and think about what was about to happen . . . he was about to become a dad . . . but he didn’t have a dad . . . well, he did, but he didn’t remember him . . . he only knew him from the Mirror of Erised and the Resurrection Stone . . . and Voldemort’s memory of murdering him . . . his dad had died for him . . . but would he be able to do the same for his son . . . .
“Harry, dear?” said Mrs. Weasley, interrupting his thoughts. “Are you alright? You look as though you’ve seen a dementor.”
“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Just tired.”
Voices from the floor beneath them floated up the stairs. “You’re more disagreeable than the goblins I work with!”
“What kind of insult is that?!”
Ginny sighed. “I wish they’d shut up.”
“Is that Ron?” said Mrs. Weasley sharply.
“Yes, but don’t worry about it, Mum,” said Ginny. “Harry’s got it under control, haven’t—? Harry, are you sure you’re alright? You look pale.”
“Really, I am! I just—”
“Oh, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve had many new fathers faint in my day,” the mediwitch, who was perched in the corner, reassured him matter-of-factly.
“What? No!” Harry said. “I’m fine, really!”
“Perhaps you should go downstairs for a bit,” Mrs. Weasley suggested. “Get some fresh air. I’ll tell Arthur to keep an eye on you.”
“I—”
“Just tell Ron and Hermione to get their shit together,” Ginny said lowly.
Before Harry knew what was happening, Mrs. Weasley had steered him to the back porch. He sat on the steps, shivering, and watched the clouds shift in the darkness. After a few minutes someone joined him, sitting beside him and handing him a jar of Bluebell Flames.
“Thanks,” he said automatically.
“It’s the least I can do,” said Hermione kindly.
“Does coffee make you go insane?” Harry asked suddenly.
She laughed. “I don’t think there’s a direct link, no. But you’ve had eight servings, which is . . . a lot.”
“It’s not energizing me.”
“It’s a stimulant. It makes you feel more awake and less tired. Though,” she said, “I imagine you’re so tired that it’s not making you feel more awake, just keeping you awake.”
“That sounds right.”
They sat there for a moment, both watching the enchanted blue flames sway in the jar. “I know you’ve had a hard week at work,” said Hermione gently. “And all of this is certainly unexpected.”
“If you mean I didn’t realize that Ginny’s entire family would be sitting downstairs waiting, yeah, that’s unexpected,” said Harry jokingly. “I thought you and Ron might come. But not everyone else.”
“Bill said Fleur’s coming around eight or nine with the girls,” Hermione told him. “And Audrey and Molly are driving up sometime in the morning, too.”
“And Angelina?”
“No clue. George’s been asleep on the couch all night.”
“I envy him.”
She smiled. “Don’t we all?” Her smile faded after a moment. “Mrs. Weasley’s told us to look after you. She said everything’s making you a little sick.”
“It’s not.”
“I know,” said Hermione. “Are you nervous? Is that what it is?”
“I . . . I don’t know,” admitted Harry. “I can’t stop thinking of how unprepared I am to be a dad.”
“Nonsense,” Hermione said briskly. “You might feel as if you’re not ready when you really are. I’ve seen you with Teddy, you’re a natural.”
“Yes, but Teddy’s not my son , is he? He’s my godson,” Harry said. “It’s different.”
“Perhaps, but Sirius was the closest thing to a father figure that you can remember,” she said. “You’re the same for Teddy. More so, actually, because you’ve known him all his life.”
“But Teddy’s—” Harry sighed. “He’s not my blood-related son. I don’t have any other children, I don’t know what to expect or what to do. And I don’t have an example of a blood-related father, either.”
“Yes, you do,” Hermione said firmly. He looked at her, confused. “Your dad might not have been around while you were growing up, but he did love you enough to die for you and your mother.” When Harry didn’t respond, Hermione continued. “I know that might not seem like enough of an example, but it’s all you have. And you were happy with your parents, weren’t you? Weren’t you smiling in all of the photos that you’ve seen?” He didn’t answer again. “I’ve got less experience parenting than you have, but I do know that you’re going to be a brilliant father, Harry.”
“Thanks, Hermione,” said Harry. “It’s funny—Ginny keeps telling me to talk to you and Ron, but now you’re the one talking to me.”
“You’re the one who’s about to be a dad,” she said. “You need it more than either of us do.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But you two—”
“Don’t worry about us,” Hermione said curtly. “We’ll sort it out.”
“Hermione—”
She stood, glancing at her watch. “Do you want to come inside? It’s cold out here, I think I might make some hot chocolate.”
Harry followed her inside wordlessly, unsure of what else he would do. He didn’t know where to go; he wanted to support Ginny, but she wanted him to help Ron and Hermione, but—
“Why aren’t Fleur and Audrey and Angelina here?”
George lurched awake again at his mother’s voice. “Wuzhappenin?”
“It’s half past four in the morning, Mum,” Bill said calmly. “They’re sleeping.”
“But they should be here!” she said hysterically. “When Victoire was born everyone had to go to the ceremony at Hogwarts, and when Molly was born Ginny was in the middle of a Quidditch match, and when Dominique was born Harry and Ron were off on an Auror mission! Now it’s a Saturday, nobody’s busy, and everyone should be here!”
“Actually, I’m missing work for this,” George added. Mrs. Weasley rounded on him threateningly and he sunk back into the sofa.
“All of us are here,” said Bill. “Fleur, Audrey, and Angelina are all coming later when it’s not an ungodly hour of the day.”
“Everyone’s alright, Molly,” said Mr. Weasley softly, lifting himself out of his chair and wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders.
Mrs. Weasley nodded, wringing her hands together. “Right, of course . . . I’m just being silly. . . .”
“Cocoa, anyone?” Hermione piped up.
Several people answered her and hot mugs flew over to them seconds later. “You know,” said Percy, once Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were out of earshot, “I am afraid that I’m missing quality time I could be spending with Audrey and Molly.”
“So am I,” said George; everyone looked at him in surprise. “Angelina and I really value our time together at half past four.”
Bill and Harry laughed—it was only then that Harry noticed Ron was missing.
“Mum sent him outside to the front yard,” Bill said when Harry asked. “She said that he and Hermione were distressing you and Ginny and sent Hermione out to check on you.”
“Oh,” said Harry, glancing over at the recumbent figures of Percy and George. “They’re not really bothering us.”
“Well, I don’t know what could be distressing Ginny, but I think I’ve got an idea of what’s bothering you, if it’s the same thing that worried me when Victoire was born,” said Bill knowingly. “Mum misdiagnosed your problem. You’d think that having two sons who’ve given her grandchildren would’ve made her a bit more aware of how intimidating of a prospect fatherhood can be.”
Relief flooded through Harry. “You were worried, too?”
“’Course I was,” Bill said. “So was Percy, even if he’d never admit it. We both talked to Dad about it. I won’t say that totally reassured us, but it was nice that we had a role model. And I know you haven’t got a dad, but just think about the people who’ve meant the most to you. Maybe not your uncle, but. . . .”
“I know what you mean,” said Harry enthusiastically, an idea popping into his mind. “Thanks, Bill. . . .”
He bounced out of his chair, returned his emptied mug of hot chocolate to Hermione, and rushed up to the bedroom with a new spring in his step.
“Good,” said Mrs. Weasley when he entered. “She’s about four centimeters dilated now.”
“Should be more,” Ginny grumbled, her teeth gritted.
“Sorry I’ve been gone,” said Harry, sitting beside her.
“I’m guessing you haven’t had any luck with my dear brother?” she said.
“Not yet,” he said. “But I’m working on it.”
“Are you now?” said Ginny. “Then what’s that noise I hear?”
“What’d you do with all the coffee?!”
“We ran out so I made something else!”
“Damn,” Harry muttered. “Do you want me to—?”
“No,” said Ginny. “Just stay here.”
Harry nodded, perfectly happy to oblige. “I’m sorry you’ve got to go through this.”
She grinned. “A little too late for that, I think. But it’s not so bad. We get to meet this little one soon. Odd—it hasn’t really sunk in for me yet. I’m going to be a mum and you’re going to be a dad in a few hours.”
“It hasn’t fully sunk in for me, either,” he said. “A bit of an overwhelming thought, isn’t it?”
“Slightly. But I’m excited,” Ginny said happily. “Have you got any ideas for a name?”
“I have, actually,” said Harry. “I was talking to Hermione and Bill—”
“Mrs. Potter,” interrupted the mediwitch, disregarding that Harry had been speaking, “you need to change positions now.”
Harry shook his head. “It can wait. Just hold that thought.”
Ginny smiled sympathetically, throwing off the covers. “Can I go downstairs to play Exploding Snap?” she asked the mediwitch. “George is here, right? He’ll play.”
“I do not see why not,” said the mediwitch. “But I will have to accompany you to time the contractions.”
“This woman,” whispered Ginny, eyeing the mediwitch cautiously as she leaned on Harry to help her down the stairs, “has no regard for what’s happening in this house outside from between my legs.”
Harry had to cough to disguise his laughter.
“Have you got a name in mind, Ginny?”
“Not yet,” answered Ginny, her eyes glued to the game she was playing opposite George. “Harry has some ideas, though.”
“Oh,” said Hermione. “Well, you have a few hours to finalize those ideas, then.”
“I reckon,” Harry said, though his idea was already finalized in his head.
George and Ginny sat intensely focused on the game at the kitchen table, with Harry, Hermione, and the quirky mediwitch gathered around them. “There’s not much strategy to this game, is there?” remarked Hermione.
“On the contrary,” said George, “it’s all about strategy.”
“How?” said Hermione.
“It’s strategy. It’s in your head,” said Ginny. “Even better if it’s unclear to the spectators and especially your opponent—oh, dammit.” She clenched the table, squeezing her eyes shut and biting her lip in pain for about a minute. George took advantage of her contraction to tap a card; a point was added to his tally.
“That’s—not—fair,” Ginny said.
He shrugged. “Strategy.”
“There’s a way to remove points, isn’t there?” Hermione said.
“Not in this version,” said Ginny, glaring at George.
“Then you can add a point, can’t you?” said Hermione worriedly. “Surely there’s a way to overpower the scoring charm.”
“Nope,” said Harry. “There’s no counter-charm. Otherwise I’d use it every time I played against Ginny—she likes to keep everyone entertained with some questionable moves.”
“All’s fair in love and war,” said Ginny with a wicked grin.
“Then we’ll just have to make a counter-charm!” Hermione said determinedly.
“Hermione,” said Ron from the doorway, “since when have you given a damn about Exploding Snap?”
“Since I realized how unfair it is!” said Hermione. “It’s just a simple matter of developing a counter-charm that can overcome the finality of the original scoring charm.”
“Ron,” said Ginny, completely immersed in the game again. “Stop biting at her throat.”
“You haven’t been downstairs all night!”
“Yeah, but maybe you noticed, I’m about to push a kid out of my body,” snapped Ginny. “And you’re arguing in my house and I’ve been hearing it from upstairs for the past six hours. So I’m going to tell you whatever the hell I want to. Stop biting at her throat.”
Harry winced, mouthing “Sorry” to Ron when Hermione wasn’t looking. Ron sulked out of the room; Harry heard him collapse into a chair in the other room with a sigh.
“You’re alright if I leave you?” he murmured to Ginny.
“Yeah,” she said out of the corner of her mouth. “Do whatever you have to do.”
Harry could feel Hermione’s eyes on the back of his head as he left the room. He patted Ron on the shoulder, muttered a quick “Let’s talk,” and led him to the foyer.
“You know what?” said Harry. “Any point you were trying to make is completely invalid now. You’re not helping your cause at all every time you walk into the room and bully your wife in front of your entire family.”
“I’m not—!”
“You both have done this for thirteen years,” Harry continued, disregarding Ron’s appeals. “You’re pissed at each other about one thing so you keep . . . attacking each other over all of these other meaningless things for no good reason. Just apologize, or compromise, or whatever you have to do to stop this endless argument. Insulting and nitpicking at one another isn’t doing either of you, or your relationship, any favors, alright?”
“Yeah, okay,” said Ron slowly, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry about all this. And sorry for dragging you into it.”
“There’s no harm done,” Harry said, smiling, “as long as you two shut up and get along. Preferably sooner rather than later.”
“Easier said than done,” Ron said, shaking his head.
George and Ginny’s hour-long game of Exploding Snap ended with a controversial victory for George and left Ginny in a sour mood that was only worsened by the overwhelming contractions coming every three minutes. The mediwitch insisted that she return upstairs, intensely muttering to herself about the active labor phase waning.
“Oh, is the transition phase beginning?” said Hermione curiously.
The mediwitch looked up sharply. “I don’t believe it has yet, no. Last time I checked she was only four and a half centimeters dilated.”
“Only four and a half?!” Ginny moaned, already halfway out of the kitchen. “Oh my God . . . this is never going to end. . . .”
“Only five and a half centimeters until you meet your son!” said Mrs. Weasley enthusiastically.
Ron winced. “Mum, please never say that again.”
Mrs. Weasley ignored him. “I think it’s time to go back upstairs, don’t you?”
The mediwitch agreed, and Harry followed them after telling Ron to follow his brothers’ lead and take a nap. It would do Ron well to get some sleep before he and Hermione spoke again. (Deep down, Harry may have wanted to live vicariously through Ron after the week of raids they had both had.)
“Ah, six and a half centimeters,” the mediwitch announced to the room. “Only a few more hours, Mrs. Potter.”
“Hours,” Ginny moaned. “Did you hear that, Harry? Hours.”
“I heard,” said Harry. “That’s not much longer.”
“It’s an eternity.”
“No, it’s not,” he said automatically.
“Harry, why don’t you get some rest?” suggested Mrs. Weasley. “Ginny told me about your week at the office.”
He was unable to stop himself from yawning at the thought. “That’s alright, I’d rather--”
“Harry,” said Ginny firmly. “Go. You heard the mediwitch, the action’s not going to happen for hours yet.”
Harry didn’t hesitate and wandered into the guest room that miraculously none of the sleeping Weasleys downstairs had thought to claim. It felt like only seconds had passed before Hermione was shaking him awake, telling him that things were starting.
“How long was I out?” he asked, reaching for his glasses.
“It’s around eleven now,” she answered.
“Eleven!” he said. “Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”
“Because you needed rest,” said Hermione. “Honestly, you looked like an Inferius.”
“But I’ve been away from Ginny all this time,” Harry said. “And now it’s not much longer until. . . .”
Hermione let out a noise that sounded like a squeal. “It’s so exciting!” she said. “Harry, I’m so happy for you and Ginny--to think, twelve years ago she only had a crush on you--and now--”
“Alright, Hermione,” he said, sitting up and smiling. “We’ve still got a bit until he’s born.”
She walked with him down the hall, quickly informing him that Fleur and Audrey had arrived a couple of hours ago with Victoire, Dominique, and Molly in tow. Angelina had just shown up. Ron had made everyone breakfast. Ginny was the one who had insisted that Harry not be woken until the last minute. Harry felt a surge of appreciation for his wife, who somehow had put his needs above her own, even while she was the one in pain.
“Tell everyone downstairs that it’s starting,” said Harry suddenly. “We’ll tell them when he’s here, yeah?”
“Alright,” said Hermione, beaming at him.
She delivered Harry’s message to the room to cheers, especially from the little girls who were eager to scream enthusiastically. Unable to tame their ruckus, Bill, Fleur, Percy, and Audrey gave up and allowed them to shriek. Hermione winced at the commotion and moved to busy herself with the dishes in the kitchen, but instead found that Ron was at her shoulder.
“Can we talk?” he said into her ear.
She nodded, quickly grabbing the Bluebell Flames and following him outside.
They both sat down on the back steps, just as Hermione had hours before with Harry. Ron spoke first. “I’ve been a prat,” he began.
“Yes, you have.”
“I’m sorry.”
Hermione waited a moment before she responded. “That’s all you have to say?”
“No,” said Ron immediately. “No, I just don’t know how to say—” He sighed. “You’re a lot better at apologies than I am.”
“I did go to school a year longer than you did,” she teased.
He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s this: I’m not sorry about the stuff I said about kids—no, hear me out! I’m not sorry about it because it . . . it’s still a big deal to me. I care about it, and—wait until I finish—sometimes I don’t think you care as much as I do.”
“I do care, Ron,” said Hermione, biting her lip.
“I know! I know,” he said, “and that’s why I said that I’m the one who thinks you don’t care. Only sometimes. Only when I’m mad, I guess.”
“Okay. . . .”
“But that’s not all I have to say!” added Ron. “Harry pointed something out to me about you and I. Or at least, about me. But you too. Sometimes. Not always.”
“And?”
“We argue and insult each other over little things when really we’re just ignoring the main problem,” he said. “And at first I didn’t think he was right, or I didn’t want to think he was right, but then I remembered the whole Crookshanks debacle in third-year.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, that was all you.”
“I know!” said Ron. “But you rose to my bait, didn’t you?”
“I suppose I did, yes.”
“There you have it then,” he said. “That’s what we’ve— I’ve —been doing.”
Hermione hesitated. “I certainly haven’t been the better person in all of this, either.” She folded her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. “But to get back to the whole reason this thing started in the first place . . . I do want children. You know I do. I also want us both to be in a place where we’re stable and ready to start a family.”
She saw his apprehension and continued, “I know that all of your siblings—well, except Charlie—all have children now. Except two, one whose baby is expected in April and one who’s quite literally birthing her child above our heads at this moment.”
“I don’t like to think about that.”
“Sorry,” said Hermione, laughing a little. “What I’m trying to say is that I know you wanted to have a kid as soon as we got married and I’m the one who's made us wait. I . . . I don’t think we’ll wait much longer.”
Ron’s face brightened in surprise. “Are you serious?”
“No, I’m trying to piss you off even more. Of course I’m serious!” she said. “I’ve given it a lot of thought lately. Not just tonight. That’s why I was so . . . alarmed when you mentioned it at dinner. I didn’t know where I stood.”
“And now you know where you stand,” Ron said, trying to muffle his excitement.
“Yes,” she said. “I know where I’m going to stand. Maybe not today. Or tomorrow. But in the near future.”
“Near future,” he repeated. “How near is this future?”
Hermione bit her lip. “I already took my potion for this month, which will last another three weeks, but I suppose I could go ahead and stop taking the pill . . . no, that wouldn’t hurt. . . .”
“Oh,” he said. “You mean, the near future is in three weeks.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Well, yeah, ’course it is,” said Ron. “I just didn’t realize you meant in three weeks. I dunno, I thought you’d say six months or something.”
She smiled. “Are you complaining?”
He leaned forward and kissed her as his answer.
“In and out, Ginny, in and out,” Harry said. “In and out.”
One hand squeezed Harry’s, the other squeezed her mother’s. Ginny winced as she followed the mediwitch’s instructions to “puuuuuush” and “rest!” If she weren’t in so much pain, Ginny would surely be making fun of the mediwitch’s tone, or her expression, or everything about this situation, really. Harry would have to remember the oddities. Perhaps he could bring them up just to Ginny, in an hour or in a week or on their son’s first birthday. He knew she’d appreciate them more after the memory of the pain had faded.
The mediwitch propped a mirror up on the bed so Ginny could watch her progress and stay motivated; Harry, however, was far more impressed by what was in the mirror than Ginny was. She had opened her eyes for one second to see, then immediately closed them again. “I just want it to be over,” she’d moaned.
“It almost is, Ginny,” Harry had whispered into her ear.
Had he really only said that minutes ago? It felt like hours had passed. Still, the mirror was encouraging to Harry--he could see the top of his son’s head.
His son.
Now he was the one following his own instructions, in and out, in and out. In just moments, he would be a father. In just moments, he and Ginny would be parents. He wondered if his own parents had been this excited and nervous and terrified and overjoyed when he was born . . . he’d never asked anyone . . . he should have asked Sirius or Remus about it. . . .
“The head is born!” the mediwitch announced.
“You’re so close, Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley said gently. “So very close.”
“We’re not done yet,” said the mediwitch primly.
Harry could’ve sworn he saw Ginny roll her eyes.
He watched in the mirror as the rest of his son’s body was born--his arms, his torso, his legs. The mediwitch wrapped him in a towel and took him to the corner of the room to quickly clean him off before she brought him to his mother’s arms for the first time.
“Ginny,” Harry murmured into her ear. She blinked deliriously in response, not taking her eyes off her son. “Ginny, you’re so strong and so brave . . . I am in awe of you.” She leaned her head against his.
“I thought of a name tonight,” he said slowly, “while I was talking to Hermione and Bill. If you don’t like it, we can forget it--”
“Harry,” said Ginny. “I have been existing in anticipation for the past twelve hours. Just tell me the bloody name.”
Harry grinned. “James Sirius.” She nodded, clutching her baby closer to her chest. “Yeah? That’s alright?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, yes, yes.” He kissed her temple and looked back down at his now-named son. James Sirius Potter.
The chatter from downstairs seized abruptly when Harry appeared. “Er—you all really didn’t have to be here, so . . . thanks,” he began, running a hand through his hair.
“We’re just returning the favor,” said Bill.
“You really didn’t have to be here,” Harry repeated. “But you can all come up now. Just wait in the hall so it’s not too overwhelming, I reckon.”
A few people clapped him on the shoulder as they passed him. Hermione threw her arms around his neck as Ron looked on, his hands in his pockets. Harry noticed that they both seemed content—at least, they weren’t shooting daggers at each other, which was definitely an improvement.
Disregarding Harry’s one request, all of the Weasleys crammed into the room (to the mediwitch’s dismay). They each swooped forward to catch a glimpse of the baby, whose name was announced by Harry.
“Good on him, being born on a Saturday,” said Percy.
“’E is beautiful, Ginny!” Fleur exclaimed.
“He’ll be a brilliant Quidditch player,” said Angelina.
“I’m putting my money on a Chaser, like his mum,” said George, which earned him a grin from Ginny.
“Oh, you’re on.”
“Seeker?”
“Like his dad. For sure.”
“No betting in front of the baby!”
“He’s not even a day old, Mum.”
Mrs. Weasley shook her head as everyone laughed, which gave Ron and Hermione time to duck over to Harry. He glanced at the two of them cautiously.
“Is everything--?”
“Everything’s settled,” Hermione said. “We just wanted to apologize. We shouldn’t have bothered you with our problems.” She gave Ron a pointed look, which he ignored.
“As long as everything’s okay,” said Harry, smiling.
“Now, out with all of you!” ushered Mrs. Weasley.
“You’ve made us wait here for hours and now we’re all just being shooed out?” said Ron. “How’s that fair?”
“You can stay, Ron,” said Ginny, shaking her head. “You too, Hermione.”
“Everybody else, out!” Mrs. Weasley commanded. “Don’t stay for too long, Ron. Ginny needs rest.”
“And Harry doesn’t?” said Ron.
“Harry is not the one who birthed a baby!” she countered. “Sorry, Harry.”
“No, you’re right,” Harry said, beaming down at his wife. “I’m not the one who needs rest right now.”
Ginny shook her head as Mrs. Weasley closed the door behind herself. “I don’t know how much rest I’m going to get. The bloody mediwitch has already pledged to stay another four hours to make sure we’re healthy.”
“She doesn’t seem very agreeable,” Hermione said, watching James shift in his mother’s arms, “but she certainly knows what she’s doing. What’s her name?”
“No clue,” said Ginny. “Do you know, Harry?” He shook his head. “I probably should know, seeing as she’s now one of the very few people to have seen my--”
“Stop!” Ron said, wincing. “Just . . . don’t. I don’t want to think about. . . .”
“Can I hold him?” interrupted Hermione, trying to hide her laughter.
Ginny lifted James up into Hermione’s arms. She cooed at him, bouncing up and down, while Ron looked on next to her.
“We were wondering if you’d be godparents,” said Harry softly, taking Ginny’s hand into his.
Ron and Hermione both glanced up, surprised. “You mean it?” said Ron.
“Did you have a say in this, Ginny?” said Hermione.
“It was my idea,” Ginny said. “Don't act too surprised. Harry’s not the only one who likes you two.”
Hermione’s eyes watered. “Of course we’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?” said Ron hesitantly.
“Why wouldn’t we be?” laughed Harry. “I thought it’d be obvious. We decided months ago.”
“We’ve been a pain in the arse,” he said. “And you still want us to be. . . ?”
“As much as I would like to say no because of that ,” said Ginny, “I think Harry and I both stand by it.”
Hermione held James for a few more minutes, before passing him over to Ron. Harry realized that, if the two of them had really made peace with one another as they said they had, it might not be long before Harry was holding their son or daughter.
“We should leave you,” said Hermione, though she was unable to take her eyes off James.
“Hermione,” said Ginny, “do you mind sending owls for me? Just three, to Neville, Luna, and Andromeda. I’d like for them to visit later, maybe tonight. Harry can Floo them and tell them when to come.” She agreed to, and Ron gently returned James to Ginny’s arms before the two of them slipped out of the room.
Harry and Ginny sat there quietly, relishing the first moments of their new family being alone. “You really are alright with his name?” he said eventually.
“Of course I am,” said Ginny, turning to look at him. “I would’ve told you if I wasn’t, don’t you think?”
“I suppose.”
“I’m glad we asked Ron and Hermione.”
“Me too.” He paused. “Can I admit something?”
“Admit away.”
“I love your family, they're my family too, but next time we are not letting everyone come to our house and wait,” said Harry quickly. “Especially not if Ron and Hermione are quarreling.”
“Remind me when I agreed to another kid?”
“It’s . . . theoretical.”
“Then in this theoretical next time we’re getting a different mediwitch,” declared Ginny. “Hannah said she wants to be a healer, right? Maybe she’ll be licensed by then . . . or maybe she won’t be, that’s fine too . . . honestly, Hermione could have delivered James and I’d be perfectly happy.”
“If that’s what you want,” murmured Harry, leaning forward to kiss the top of Ginny’s head. In that moment, Harry knew that as long as Ginny and Baby James were happy, safe, and healthy, he would be, too. Their whole little family would be.