A/N: I do not own any of these characters, everything belongs to JK Rowling, etc, etc.
Molly Weasley was in a position she'd been in six times before(well, five, if you counted Fred and George as the same time, which she most certainly did not; there'd been two of them, hadn't there?), but this time felt different. This was old hat. She felt tired and worn out, and though she wanted this over, part of her wasn't ready at all. She felt her stomach contract, and for a moment she could think of nothing but the gripping pain coursing through her body. Arthur was out getting himself some coffee and updating the few people gathered in the waiting room; her mother and father, a couple of friends from the Order. There aren't many people waiting for the seventh baby.
She was no stranger to childbirth, no sir. She thought of her children, all six of them, all red hair and mischievous grins, six boys. Merlin please, she thought, don't let this be another boy. Each of them were exhausting, some more than most-delivering twins hadn't been the only hard part, raising them was even harder most of the time-and there were days when she wanted to throw the towel in. When Fred was pulling Percy's hair and Charlie was chasing the cat around and George had broken every last plate in the cupboard and Billy was howling like a wolf and Ron just wouldn't stop crying. Those were the times when she wondered why she and Arthur had wanted such a big family, because these children of hers were driving her nuts.
But then at night, when she was so overtired her eyes were itching and she was about to crawl in bed next to her husband, she'd sneak a peek at her sleeping children and remember that she she loved them. Or Fred and George would color her a picture, or Percy would try to read her a story. And even though they were strapped so tight with their finances, those messy kisses and flyaway red curls made up for it, and they were getting along just fine, they really were. Things could be better, but wasn't that life? They were okay.
But then she started to feel nauseous, and couldn't drop the last five pounds she'd been trying to drop since Ron was born. She knew that feeling from the many times she'd felt it before, and with trepidation she went to the Healer's office. The Healer congratulated her and told her she was expecting, and for the first time since she and Arthur had started a family, she didn't feel a rush of love and excitement. Sure, with the later children she'd been scared, as they became ever more strapped for money and time, but no matter what she always felt a rush of love with each child. As soon as the Healer left her examination room, she dropped her face in her hands and wept.
So that was what her secret was, as she laid in her bed at St. Mungo's, contractions rippling through her with increasing urgency as her husband brightly and cheerfully chattered on to their family and friends in the waiting room. She didn't feel love for this seventh child. She felt crippling fear over their lack of money, and anger that they'd been so careless as to allow her to get pregnant again when they couldn't even properly afford the ones they did have. She felt a lot of true, genuiene sorrow at the life she wouldn't be able to provide for this child, one full of expensive toys and all the best magical things money could buy. Mostly she felt guilt, at not loving this baby like she had the rest of them at this point.
"You deserve more," she whispered to her belly, and moaned as another contraction hit.
Four hours later, after a lot of hard pushing and cheering on from her husband, Molly was holding a little girl with a fluff of red hair and beautiful brown eyes. Molly stroked one of her rosy cheeks.
"Finally got that little girl we've always wanted," Arthur said with pride in his voice, his arm tucked around his wife.
"I just wish we could give her more," Molly said sadly.
"We will give her enough," Arthur said gently.
"But I want her to have everything. I want all of them to have everything. And we can't give them that," she said sadly.
Arthur brushed his finger along the baby's cheek. "No, we can't." he said simply.
"Doesn't that bother you?" she asked, with more than a little bit of frustration in her voice. "Doesn't it bother you that our children will never have what other kids will have? The best things, better advantages?"
"Molly, I don't know where this is coming from, but..." he took the baby from her. "I know that we aren't as well off as we maybe should be, and we have seven kids and that's a lot. But those kids don't need everything. They don't need the most expensive racing brooms and robes made from silk imported from the French Isles. Yes, I wish we could give them everything, but we've given them us, and our love, and a home, and each other. And I still think that's pretty important."
Molly's eyes spilled over with tears. It was important, and he was right. She was foolish to have been so materialistic and unexcited about this baby, this sweet little girl who completed their family. Ginevra Weasley wouldn't have everything she wanted, but she'd have what she needed, and maybe, just maybe, she'd be better off for it.