Credit for the following story goes to Lydia, for being a great friend and dealing with me texting her about plot ideas at three in the morning; to Georgie, for looking over chapters to find my mistakes; and, of course, to Ms. Rowling, for creating such a wonderful world for us all to explore. As always, I own nothing that is recognised.

Thank you and enjoy.

27 September, 2009

"How long 'till closing, sir?" his assistant, a twenty-something brunette named Anne, asked when George walked past her towards the till.

"Why? Have a date tonight?" he joked, but Anne only shook her head. She wasn't much for jokes or pranks—ironic, since she worked in wizarding Britain's most prominent joke shop. "We've still got about two hours on the clock. Do you need to leave early?"

"No sir. I've just been feeling a bit under the weather is all."

"I could send you home now—"

"No thanks, sir. It's my job to help you close up, after all. Even if I'm sick, you hired me to perform a job and that is what I'm here to do. I can be sick on my own time." Anne was, if nothing else, dedicated to a fault.

"Alright," George replied with a shrug. If she didn't want to go home, he wasn't going to push her. After all, Anne was one of his hardest workers and had long-since made it past the usual turnover rate of the majority of his employees. "But if you start to feel worse, sit down or something for me, okay? I don't want you throwing up or anything."

"Yes sir." Anne walked away briskly to attend to two young wizards who were eagerly admiring the Puking Pastilles. He smiled fondly as she left, knowing Anne wouldn't have asked to leave if she was bleeding out all over the floor.

George looked around his shop, a sense of pride bursting in his chest; Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had become a prominent fixture in Diagon Alley ever since its inception thirteen years ago. Hundreds of curious shoppers came through every single day, admiring the newest novelties and trinkets that George had in store for the masses.

There had been some days where George had been very close to closing the shop for good—after his brother's passing, he had been inconsolable, refusing to get out of bed or eat. There were still days where he simply had no desire to head downstairs in the morning to open up the shop, and left running the place to Anne, who was incredibly understanding—she had lost an older brother during the war and her mother, a muggleborn, had disappeared and to this day remained unfound.

But for the most part, George was in charge of the store, every single day except for April 1st and May 2nd. Those two days were his to do what he wanted with—he supposed that, in a few short years, he'd have to extend at least a half-day vacation to September 1st as well, but for now, his son wasn't old enough to attend Hogwarts.

The shop had been doing astoundingly well, even better than George could have ever predicted—four years ago, he had successfully bought out Zonko's, a dream of his since he was a teenager, and had done it for two thousand less Galleons than he had expected to have to pay.

Now there were two locations for his increasingly popular joke shop; the main one here in Diagon Alley was personally run by George. He lived above the shop with his wife and young son and had easy access to the store below whenever he needed.

Ron, his younger brother, managed the Hogsmeade location. George knew the second shop was in capable hands. His brother, though initially unsure of himself, had bloomed over the years, and the Hogsmeade location had gone through renovations over the summer, finding itself in need of an expansion.

People like Anne, long-term employees, were rare. George had gone through a number of employees over the years—most were recently graduated Hogwarts kids in need of a decent temporary job.

But George liked to think that he was a good boss to everyone who worked for him, no matter how old or why they wanted the job. And everyone who had worked at the shop had nothing but compliments about him.

Customers were always fawning over Freddie who, at six years old, was already showing signs of taking after his legendary prankster of a father. The customers and employees all loved Freddie, mischievous as he was—he was simply just too cute not to like.

And he and Angelina were expecting their second child any day now—they had been trying for a few years to have another baby, because George couldn't imagine the idea of raising his son as an only child, not when his own childhood was always filled with playmates in the form of siblings.

Life was going well for George; the nightmares were mostly gone. He no longer needed a bottle of Butterbeer before going to bed. He was…he was happy. He was content. His family, his workplace—all of it was going exactly how George wanted.

"Dad." George turned, smiling down at his son, who was hiding in the doorway that separated the shop from the flat. The boy was looking around nervously, clearly frightened by something.

George rushed over to the boy, shouting instructions for his assistant, Anne, to take over the till while he was gone. George clapped his hands over Freddie's shoulders, looking the little boy over for injuries. "What's wrong, Freddie? Has something happened?"

"Mummy said to get you. She said the baby's coming and you need to get her to St Mungo's." George's world froze. The baby—the—the—the baby? Coming now? But there was still—still time, the baby wasn't supposed to come for another—another couple of weeks, why was it—why was it—"Dad?" Freddie leaned up to pat George's cheek. "Dad, we have to help Mummy, c'mon. Mummy needs help, c'mon Dad, c'mon."

"Um…" George couldn't think. "H-hey Anne?" His assistant looked over at him curiously. "Can you close up shop for me when it's time? I'm not going to be here. My wife's gone into labour." It didn't feel like him talking, even as he felt his mouth move.

"Oh!" Anne shrieked happily, attracting the attention of several customers. "Of course, Mr. Weasley! You go on right ahead! Congratulations!"

"C'mon Dad," Freddie said anxiously, tugging on George's sleeve. "Mummy needs you. C'mon, let's go."

He allowed himself to led upstairs in a daze, mind struggling to process the baby is coming now. Freddie had been right on time, hadn't he? Right on time. Their second child wasn't supposed to be born until October, it was only the 27th of September now, how—why—was it coming early?

"George?" he heard Angelina groan from the sitting room. George stumbled in to find his wife laying on the sofa, her face twisted in pain as she gripped her protruding stomach. "George, is that you? George, I—I need to get to St Mungo's."

She was breathing heavily, eyes unfocused as she let out a scream that made George twitch. He hated seeing his wife in pain, seeing the way she was hurting. "How—how far apart are contractions, Ange? Remember, Clarissa said not until they're really close? How far apart are they? How far apart, Ange? Ange?" He was losing control, but George couldn't help it.

The baby isn't due for another two weeks, the baby isn't due for another two weeks. Why is it coming now? Why is it early? Have we done something wrong? What's going to happen? Oh Merlin, what's going to happen now? The baby isn't due for another two weeks, the baby isn't due for—

"George!" Angelina screamed, dragging George back to reality. Then, in a much calmer tone, she said, "George, sweetie, can you please stop panicking? Because I'm already panicking and I'm the one going into labour here, remember, dear? Now we really only need one parent to panic, don't we, and since I'm the one whose insides are currently being ripped apart, perhaps you should be the one to maintain a grip on the situation so that I can get the proper attention I need."

"Y-yeah." George shook his head, trying to clear it. He needed to stay calm if he didn't want to mess everything up. "Okay. Okay. Um…how far apart are the contractions, Ange?"

"About three to four minutes," she said heavily, fingers fluttering across her stomach. "I waited as long as I could to get you. I didn't want to pull you away from your job before it was absolutely necessary."

"You could've gotten me sooner."

"Why? You heard what Clarissa said." Clarissa, a mediwitch at St Mungo's and an old friend from Hogwarts, had overseen Freddie's birth and every stage of the pregnancy for their new child as well. Her word was practically golden to them by now. "All you would have been able to do was pace around and panic."

"I guess you're right," George mumbled. "So—so should I take you in now? Are we good to go?"

"The bag is by the door," Angelina replied, pushing herself off the couch slowly, maintaining a firm grip on the arm. She already looked exhausted. "Oh, I've already sent an owl to Ginny—but if you think a Patronus or whatever is faster, then you should probably take care of that—so she can come help with Freddie."

"Y-yeah." Ginny, George's sister, had agreed to come to St Mungo's the second they called on her to watch over Freddie while Angelina gave birth. The women in George's family had very little faith in George's ability to keep it together during the birth of his child.

Just because I fainted last time, George grumbled to himself as he flung the bag around his shoulder and scooped up Freddie, who was still nervously watching from the doorway. "C'mon, little man," he told the boy, moving to help Angelina stay upright. "We're going to St Mungo's to welcome your new baby brother or sister."

"Baby." Freddie happily snuggled against his father's chest as they stepped into the fireplace, George yelling "St Mungo's!" into the fireplace as Angelina continued to breath heavily. He gripped her hand tightly, giving his wife the most reassuring look he could muster.

"I love you Ange," he said, hoping she could hear him over the roar of green flames. George couldn't imagine how awful she had to be feeling at that moment as the flat disappeared from view; Floo travel made practically everyone sick. "We're gonna be okay, yeah?"

"I'm fine," she murmured, stepping out of the fireplace hurriedly, looking ill. "Or," she gripped her midsection again, grimacing, "rather, I'm not fine, but the Floo isn't the issue here. C'mon, Mr. Weasley, go find me Clarissa."

"George?" Ginny was rushing over, handing her young daughter off to a rather flustered-looking Harry, who was already struggling to keep his sons under control. "Oh Ange, you're really close!" She looked down in astonishment at Angelina. "Here George, give me Freddie and go get her to maternity."

"I don't want Dad to leave!" Freddie protested as he was handed off, but then caught sight of four year old James and forgot all about his parents and the incoming baby.

George escorted Angelina over to the receptionist, explaining that his wife was in labour and that they really needed to see Healer Bartley immediately. The receptionist, a little astounded, nodded, casting a wispy Patronus. Two minutes later, Clarissa, already in scrubs, burst out from the main hallway, running over as quickly as she could.

"Oh you two! Couldn't even send me an owl or anything before you got here—this is just like you Ange." The mediwitch led them quickly further into St Mungo's. "C'mon, this way, this way. I'm sure you lot know exactly where maternity is. Merlin knows you've come here enough."

"Nice to see you too, Clare," George joked, laughing weakly as Angelina gave out another groan. He looked nervously over at his wife, who waved George off, protesting that she was fine, there was only a goddamn person trying to claw its way out of her.

"She seems cheery," Clarissa said happily, leading them into a birthing room. "Luckily, we've had this place prepped for a few days now."

"You knew we were coming?"

"No, 'course we didn't know. But it's just one of those things we do for patients, getting the rooms prepped a little before the due date. Babies almost never come when we expect them to, so it's better to be ready for situations like this."

"Oh."

He helped one of the mediwizards lay Angelina down, piling pillows behind her head as she groaned again, more loudly this time.

"And now," Clarissa said, grabbing George by the elbow. "It is time for Daddy to go play the waiting game outside with the rest of his family."

"What? Why?" George protested, twisting to see as Angelina murmured something to the closest Healer. "Ange needs me. That's my baby, my baby needs me—"

"George, you fainted last time, remember?"

"I won't this time!"

"Look, we just think it's best for you to stay outside the room for this birth. You were a little…well, a little out of control last time. You'll only worry Angelina—and me—and that'll make bringing the baby out harder than is necessary."

Memories of him going pale with worry every time Angelina groaned or screamed flashed through George's head. "Fine. But the second the baby's born-"

"I'll come get you," Clarissa promised before shoving him from the room. "Now go wait with everyone else and be patient. She's so dilated this should only take a few hours. I'm expecting a quick and easy birth."

George, a bit dazed from how quickly everything had happened, made his way back to the main waiting room, where Ginny and Harry were playing with the kids. His mother and father were already waiting as well, and Molly leapt up when George came over.

"They kicked me out. Said I was too wild last time and that it'd be best for me to wait out," he explained, dropping into one of the chairs. He put his head in his hands and groaned.

"I hope you don't mind, but I've already sent owls off to your brothers," Molly said, scooting over to pat him on the back. "Bill said he'll be here soon, but Percy's currently stuck at work—"

"Of course he is," George muttered. Molly shot him a look but continued on.

"—though Audrey said she'll at least come by with the girls while we wait. I suspect Charlie won't be coming, again, but I suppose that's what you get when your son decides he loves dragons more than his own mother and runs off to Romania."

"Charlie doesn't love dragons more than you Mum," Ginny said, exasperation colouring her voice. "He loves dragons more than everyone. Besides, what's the last birth he actually came to see? Albie's? And that was three years ago."

"He was only here for Victoire's and Albus'," Molly grumbled. "He's hardly ever here anymore, even for Christmas. My own son."

"Hey Mum? I don't mean to be rude or anything, but can we please focus on the fact that my wife is currently giving birth in another room?" George asked. Arthur opened his mouth as though to tell George off, but Molly only nodded, sniffling slightly.

"Sorry. I suppose I do get a bit carried away about these sorts of things. But I'm a mother—I always worry."

"That you do," George and Ginny said together, and Molly rolled her eyes at them.

"Have you picked out a name yet?" Harry asked—the first thing he'd said the whole time. George glanced over at his brother-in-law. Harry always seemed mildly uncomfortable at family events, despite having been married to Ginny for seven years, and being seen as a part of the family for even longer.

"We don't even know the gender yet, actually. Clarissa says it shouldn't be too much longer, though. Angelina was about ready to burst when we got her here."

It was not a few hours later that the baby was born. It was thirteen.

Dawn was breaking when they finally let George in. It was the early morning of September 28th, and for the second time in his life, George had become a father. Clarissa was the one to actually get him, giving him a big grin as she stuck her out into the waiting room.

"How about just Daddy for now?" she said when Molly tried to follow after them. The older woman paused, looking annoyed, but George nodded, eager to see his new son or daughter. "We'll come back for the rest of you after the new parents have had some time."

The head mediwitch smiled as she escorted George to Angelina's room. Clarissa looked tired, bags under her eyes and frizzy hair sticking out from underneath her cap, but she also was excitedly leading George to his wife.

"It's a girl," Clarissa said, bright eyes shining, pausing outside of the birthing room. "A healthy baby girl. 46 centimetres long and weighing a whopping 2.9 kilograms. Not bad, as far as newborns go. And she's certainly very pretty. Healthy lungs, for sure—she was quite the screamer, but she's resting now. Quite exhausting work, being born. We cut the cord, cleaned her, and weighed her before getting you, if you don't mind, considering you fainted last time you were here."

"That was six years ago! Are you ever going to let me live that down?" George protested lightly, but the mediwitch only shook her head, amused, and pushed open the door, letting George into his wife's room.

"She's been demanding to know where you were since the moment we took you out." Clarissa turned her attention to Angelina, who looked up at them from her bed. "Hello, Mrs, Weasley, I've got George back now. If you want, I could give you a little privacy?"

"Yes, please, Clare?" Angelina looked gratefully at her old friend. "What about Freddie, though? Where is he? Is Freddie being taken care of?"

"Freddie's under the supervision of Mrs. Potter right now. We can bring family in one by one or in small groups—or even all at once, if that's what you prefer—but we typically try to let Mummy and Daddy have some alone time with the new baby before everyone else comes storming in here to see. And besides, you've got some thinking to do."

Clarissa smiled at them again, slipping from the room as quietly as she could while George pulled a chair over to Angelina. He looked her over, seeing the exhaustion in her face, the sweat that poured down her cheeks.

She had never been more beautiful to him than she was in that exact moment, dishevelled and in need of a shower. He fell in love with her all over again, like they were twenty years old and sitting on the beach outside his brother's house.

George leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, his hand moving to stroke his daughter's tiny forehead. She looked so fragile, so innocent. The baby twitched slightly at George's touch, but then settled once more against Angelina's chest, mouth opening and closing a few times.

"What are we going to name her?" Angelina asked, looking down at the beautiful little girl in her arms. George smiled at the sleeping newborn; he could already see himself in eleven years, seeing his daughter off for her first at Hogwarts. "We never did pick out a name, did we George? Maybe that would've been smarter, maybe we should've—"

"Shh," George said, kissing her again. "Everything's okay, Ange. It's okay. We're naming her right now, aren't we? We're going to give our daughter the best name ever. I promise. It'll be beautiful, just like her. Just like you."

"Git," Angelina replied, laughing. "Well, we certainly can't name her Molly, now can we?" Percy had already taken the name for his own daughter, his firstborn child, eight years previous. "And she doesn't look very much like a Stephanie to me." Stephanie—the name of Ange's mother. "Besides that, I think tying our first kid to somebody else was enough for me. Don't you think she should have an original name?"

George nodded, deep in thought. He stood, pacing the room, walking from Ange's bed to the window, where he stopped, looking out at the slowly rising sun. That's when he had an idea—a name, the perfect name for his baby girl, because it was just as beautiful as she was, as she would be one day.

"Roxanne," he murmured, turning to look at Angelina, a smile breaking out on his face. "We should call her Roxanne. It means dawn, bright—just like her. What do you think? Roxanne, Roxanne, Roxanne Weasley." He repeated the name a few more times, testing it out, liking the way the name sounded. "Roxanne Weasley? Is that who she is?"

"I like the name Roxanne," Angelina replied. "Roxy for short, I suppose. It's very pretty. And—and her middle name? What do you think?"

"Oh, well I was thinking perhaps Anne or something along those lines, but if you wanted something else..."

His wife narrowed her eyes at him. "No, definitely not Anne. What about Raechell? Roxanne Raechell Weasley, how does that sound?"

"Alright, then, we're agreed. Roxanne Raechell Weasley." They were grinning at each other like mad people, repeating the name back and forth, trying it, tasting it, and exploring their daughter's new name like blind people given sight for the first time in their lives. The name sounded like promises, like potential, like happiness. The new parents looked down at their daughter, and they decided. "Roxanne Raechell Weasley. That's who you are."

The girl named Roxanne Raechell Weasley only cooed quietly in response, unaware of the decision that had just been made that would change her life forever.