The clock read 4:17 AM. She groaned, knowing she wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. Beside her, James rolled over and mumbled some nonsense; his arm draped around her. She envied him as he continued to sleep soundly, undisturbed. Why women had to be the ones going through childbirth was a question she wanted desperately for an answer.
Lily hated pregnancy, had such an aversion to it that one would be confused as to why she was even keeping her child. But she didn't hate it for the physical pain. She hated it because she was kept on the sidelines now; no more undercover work, no more duels, James had insisted. To her dismay, the rest of the Order had agreed with him. She had thrown a fit. He knew how much she wanted to fight, knew how much it meant to her to fight. She was Muggleborn- everything the Dark Lord wanted to wipe out. It gnawed at her that she wasn't being of use.
She sighed, reaching for a hair elastic to tie back her tumbling auburn locks. She sat up straight, wondering what to do. She remembered the neglected laundry lying alone and forgotten. Carefully she swung her legs over the side of the bed, and slipped her feet into her nice, cozy slippers. Slowly, she righted herself so that she was standing. It got harder each day now. She knew he- or she, was coming.
She plodded into the laundry room yawning; one hand was on her lower back, the other rested lightly on her blossoming stomach. She sorted through the dirty clothes. Coloured shirts here; plain over there. Shorts and pants over there, undergarments here.
She laughed internally. It was amusing to see James, a grown man, still use the boxer shorts, complete with whizzing snitches set against an emerald green backdrop, that he had worn since First Year. He'd used an Engorgement Charm when he needed to fix the size. Kept them for sentimental value, James had admitted, blushing. Wore it the day you finally said yes, he had gone on. Wore it the day of our wedding. She had laughed so hard; tears of mirth had sprung from her eyes when she heard his explanation as to why she couldn't throw them out.
As she loaded the clothes into the washer, she felt… what was the word? Satirical? No. Anyhow, it was funny that, even though Voldemort was at his prime, she was doing the most ordinary, normal, Muggle thing. Doing the laundry. She suddenly felt a surge of happiness, of comfort. She felt lucky to be doing even this simple chore. She turned the machine on and immediately heard the rush of whirling water.
She leaned on the appliance, her back against it. She slid down until she sat on the floor, her head resting on the vibrating side. The churning of the machine was slow and steady; the hypnotic rhythm soothed her. She felt peace and calm, but most of all, she felt safe. The tossing of water and clothes, the low hum that was emitted, it all sounded familiar…
She touched her growing belly and briefly wondered if the child inside felt as protected within her as she had when felt when she was still an unborn. Did her pulsing blood warm and reassure it like the washing machine's tempo did to her?
James found her there dozing. He dropped down beside her, leaned, and let his head tilt up to let the soft vibrations of the washing machine echo in his skull. He took his time drinking in his wife's calm demeanour; the serene expression on her face was angelic. Her soft breathing and the cadenced throb of the machine coaxed him to sleep.
There they slept, in the laundry room of their house atop the hill of Godric's Hollow. Who knew that such extraordinary events would ever occur there when at the moment the place, the people seemed the epitome of ordinary?
A/N: hmm.. title ideas, anyone?