Hi guys. Um. I'm still alive. Still writing. Still writing for the Harry Potter fandom, even. It's just, uh. Slow progress.

I wrote this story in one sitting last night. I'd just finished my fifth or so rereading of The Host, and I had a lot of O'Wanda feelings. If you're here because you follow me but you haven't read The Host, go read The Host. If you're here because you follow me and you have read The Host, enjoy! If you're here because you've read The Host but you haven't read any of my other stories, please don't read them if you're not a fan of Severus Snape. It won't be enjoyable for either you or me. Anyway, regardless of why you clicked on this story, thank you for doing so! I hope you'll enjoy the read :)

Since writing this story last night, I've only lightly edited it, so it probably won't be perfect. I 100% welcome concrit, as long as it is actually constructive. And, of course, reviews in general is what I live for, so please leave one!

Yours,

Hannoie

I felt as though I'd run a marathon. Not something this body had experienced; the comparison stemmed from another life, another body. This one—mine for five full years now—did still not possess the strength necessary for such a task, though it was not as weak as it had once been.

It was strong enough to do something else, though. Something much, much more important.

I cradled the new-born girl in my arms, my heart swelling another impossible few inches. Would I ever stop marvelling at the physical sensations that accompanied strong emotions on this planet? I didn't think so.

I loved her. I loved her so much it was almost frightening, this daughter of mine. This little human girl that meant more to me than anybody else in the entire known universe. More than Melanie. More than Ian. More than Jamie. I considered the fact that I would sacrifice them all to keep my daughter safe, and the thought did not scare me as much as I thought it should. I had seen the way my family looked at her; they would all make the same choice in my place.

Smiling down at her sleeping form, I then turned my eyes to the other sleeping form in the hospital. Ian was snoring lightly in the cot next to mine. He'd wake up soon—he hadn't had a full night of sleep since I'd given birth two days ago. Not because our daughter had been crying much, but because he didn't seem capable of being apart from her for more than a few hours at a time. She still knew no other bed than the cradle of his arms and mine.

As if he'd heard my thoughts, he began to shift, and his snoring stopped. A few moments later, his eyelids fluttered open and he gave us a sleepy smile.

'Hi.'

I smiled back. 'Good morning.'

Ian's eyes widened and his smile disappeared. 'Morning?'

I glanced at the vents in the roof. The sky was a pale blue, and the light just a tiny bit grainy. Not dawn, but dusk. 'No, it's evening. You should sleep until morning, though. I feel silly sleeping almost ten hours every night when you haven't had more than four in a row, at best.'

He relaxed back into the cot and smiled again, this time at the girl in my arms. 'I don't mind.'

'I know you don't, but still. I thought I was the resident altruist.'

'You need the sleep more than I do. Besides, I'm not being altruistic—I'm being very, very selfish,' he said, chuckling. 'While you sleep, I get to hold her for ten uninterrupted hours.'

I rolled my eyes at him, though the effect was probably ruined by the fondness that tugged at the corners of my mouth. 'I suppose you do have a point. Get over here and you can hold both of us at once.'

I had become better at voicing what I wanted. It was still difficult sometimes, when what I wanted conflicted with the wants of somebody else, but it was never difficult with Ian. I knew I could ask anything of him—not because I knew he would say yes, but because I knew he could say no. Everybody else tended to give me what I wanted, simply because my asking was such a rarity. It made it so much more difficult.

This time, Ian had no reason to deny my request. He rolled out of his own cot and settled carefully on mine, working his large body underneath me until I was practically sitting on his lap. His arms came around me, holding me close, and one of his hands cradled our daughter's head. I thought about the way we must look, and I smiled again, this time with something akin to disbelief. Who would have thought this possible a decade ago? A soul and a human, married, holding their new-born daughter in their arms? Impossible. And yet, nothing had ever seemed more real in my life. In any of my lives.

'What is your name, little one?' Ian asked.

Her name. Yes. We'd discussed names before she was born, of course. But now, trying them out on our lips, none of them quite fit. They rolled around awkwardly in our mouths, seemingly having nothing to do with the little miracle in our arms. What name could possibly fathom the essence of someone so special? So unique?

A memory drifted to the front of my mind, quietly and unobtrusively. One of my favourite memories, though I hadn't thought about it in a long while. One from my first year as a human.

A little family was taking advantage of the cooler evening air. The father had some silver in his dark hair at the temples; the mother looked many years his junior. Her red brown hair was pulled back in a long ponytail that bobbed when she moved. They had a little boy, no more than a year old. The father pushed the child in the swing from behind, while the mother stood in front, leaning in to kiss his forehead when he swung her way, making him giggle so hard that his chubby little face was bright red. This had her laughing, too—I could see her body shake with it, her hair dancing.

'What are you staring at, Wanda?'

Jared's question wasn't anxious, because I was smiling softly at the surprising scene.

'Something I've never seen in all my lives. I'm staring at … hope.'

'Hope,' I murmured.

Our daughter made a soft noise and began to squirm a bit, then, opening her deep blue eyes. They weren't quite the same colour as Ian's. I wondered if they would become sapphire and ink, like his, or if they would fade into my own pale grey. Perhaps they would become another colour entirely. Perhaps the soft green of Cloud Spinner's eyes?

'What did you say?' Ian asked.

I looked up at him, meeting his gaze. So impossibly warm and full of love. 'Do you remember my first raid?'

'Of course.'

'I was thinking about that family, with the human child. Do you remember what I said when I first saw them?'

'You said … you said you were staring at hope.'

'Hope,' I repeated, looking down at my daughter again. 'Hope.'

'Hope.' He was quiet for a while, thoughtful. 'Yes. It suits her. If she isn't the embodiment of hope, I don't know who or what could be.'

'That's what I thought.'

I settled back against his chest, a soft smile on my lips. Now that we had finally decided on a name, I felt how tired I was. Sleep would come easily, if I let it.

'Ian?'

'Yes?'

'I love you. You're my second favourite person in the known universe.' It had been a sort of running joke between Ian and me, to call each other our very favourite person in the known universe. As if there could be anyone in the unknown universe that we'd like better. But two days ago, we'd had to change it.

'I love you, too. And you're my second favourite person in the known universe.'

We looked down at our favourite person then, though she barely was a person yet.

It would come. She had her entire life ahead of her. Love. Laughter.

Hope.

Aaaaand, cut!

Well, there it is. Just a bit of tooth-rotting fluff for all my fellow O'Wanda fans out there. If you have any questions about this snapshot of a 'verse, don't be afraid to ask! I have some Thoughts about it that I'd love to share. Who knows, I might write some more stories for it. It would be cool to see Hope grow up, I think!

Please leave a review before you go :)

Yours,

Hannoie