"I hate you," she growls, clutching at her swollen stomach. "I know I've said it before, but this time I really mean it."
"If you say so," James smiles sadly. "I'm sorry you're in pain, but we get to meet our son today." He reaches out a hand to rub her shoulder, but she swats it away.
"Meet our daughter," she snaps childishly. "It has to be a girl."
"And why is that?" he asks, although he knows; they've had this conversation a dozen times.
"It's bad enough with you four Marauders in my house," she pants, "but add a little boy to the mix and it'll be the end of me."
"Oh come on," he continues, trying to distract her from the pain, because it's really the only thing he can do. "You wouldn't love a miniature me running around?"
A ghost of a smile sweeps across her face, but then it's replaced in an instant by a grimace of pain.
"Maybe the second time around," she clutches his arm tightly. "I need a girl."
"What makes you think our daughter wouldn't inherit my flair for chaos?"
He smiles. He loves the idea of a son, but he also loves the idea of a miniature Lily, freckly and red-haired and beautiful.
"We'll just have to wait and see."
Two hours later…
"Come on Lily," he urges her. "Almost there." He can see jet-black hair, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
And one minute later, here he is—messy and crying and squirming. A real person, a tiny boy.
Lily is silent, enthralled and in love and terrified all at once as she reaches out her arms. And then her whole world shifts, and she feels complete.
"I told you it was a boy," James whispers in her ear. "I was right."
"First time for everything?" she sighs.
He nods, reaching out to grasp the tiny hand in his.
"I love you," she says.