Longing
Harry looked up from his spot on the doorstep, his hand barely up high enough to reach the knocker before an exhausted but jubilant-looking Ron opened the door.
"Finally made it, mate!"
"Yeah. Sorry, broom traffic was crazy over the Thames this morning. And trying to get past the paps was…" His voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat, peeking his head in.
"Should I be quiet?" he asked, lowering his voice to a whisper.
"S'okay, they're both awake at the moment," assured Ron, opening the door wider. "C'mon, come meet the new addition," he said, grinning widely.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Harry nodded and followed. He slipped out of his trainers and left them carefully on the mat, as Hermione had always asked him to do when he came to visit. Ron waited for him, his blue eyes red-rimmed but bright, his feet dragging a big in spite of his excited gait.
They entered the living-room and it was like a bomb had exploded; that was Harry's first thought. Normally the room was picture-perfect; perhaps a spare tea cup sitting forgotten on a coaster, but nothing dramatic. This was dramatic. The cherry wood change table—one he'd chosen and gifted them with at the news of their pending arrival—and matching rocking chair were now covered in receiving blankets, bins of baby wipes and tiny baby cloth diapers with pictures of teddy bears and ducklings adorning them. He'd arranged for the service to come by Ron and Hermione's every week, to help them out. Hermione had initially refused, until Molly wore her down and said it was an incredibly thoughtful gift of Harry to offer. She had eventually given in, if he'd agree to be named godfather. Heart full, voice hoarse, he'd accepted.
On the couch, also covered in blankets, sat Hermione. Her hair a mess, her face looking even more tired and drawn than Ron's, but the most beautiful, wonderful, heart-warming smile he'd ever seen gracing her pink lips as she greeted him. Already he could see her chest had expanded, as she had explained it would when he'd asked her about what she was reading about in her 'What to Expect—The First Days' chapter of her pre-natal guide. They'd looked at it often. He'd even gotten his own guide, to follow-along with her, every step.
He swallowed. Even hours later, exhausted, she looked glorious. He would have done anything to be there with her, but…
In her arms, suckling at her engorged breast, was her son. She looked down at him a moment, smiling at the nursing boy, and murmured something gentle and loving. She was the embodiment of love.
He forced his hands steady, his mind barely wrapping around the fact that his best friend, Hermione… she had created life from her own body. To Ron he offered the bouquet he'd picked up on his way over (after agonizing for nearly forty minutes before asking the florist what a good combination of soothing scents would be for a new mother, and that it would have to include Shasta daisies, her favourites…)
"Congratulations," he said, his eyes returning to Hermione and her son. Her son.
His heart wanted to explode in his chest.
She adjusted her grip on him and gave him a you're-being-silly-look, beckoning him closer. "Harry, come here and give us a hug. I'm not made of glass."
No, she wasn't, but he was.
A forced smile made it to his lips, and he mentally shook himself. Nothing has changed, he told himself.
"Of course. Just didn't want to interrupt my godson's lunch," he said, grinning. There, that was better.
"He's definitely a boy; he does nothing but eat or sleep," cracked Ron proudly. "I'll just go pop these in water—where would you like them?" He asked Hermione, leaning closer to let her smell them.
"In here, by the couch, please. They're divine, Harry! Thank you, I feel more relaxed already," she beamed at him. She patted the couch beside her. "Come here, for heaven's sakes. He won't bite you. Yet." She laughed, rolling her tired, happy eyes.
"I won't upset you? Or the new master of the house?" asked Harry, swallowing.
"Not at all."
Gingerly he sat down beside her, and she reached an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer into a hug. Something human in him, human and needy and desperate made him breathe her in, every bit of her scent, and he was flooded with her feminine cologne, the faint scent of hospital antiseptic, and just the teeniest bit of milk and… he breathed again… that new, fresh, loving scent...
"Yes," she whispered against his ear, her voice soft, wavering but strong. Like she could read his mind, she added. "He smells amazing, doesn't he? I'm told it wears off, the newborn scent, but there's just something about him that's perfect. He's so perfect, Harry."
Awed, Harry found his hand reaching out to touch the dark-tufted hair—lanugo, he remembered; it would likely fall out as his new hair grew in—and he halted his hand. It would be too much.
But Hermione took his hand and brought it to her son's head to let him brush his fingers through it. It was the softest thing he'd ever touched in his life.
"He's so small," he said, struck again by the intimacy of the moment; by how wrong, and yet so right it felt to be beside Hermione as she nursed her son, bare-breasted with him there beside her and her so comfortable with his arm now reaching around them both.
His heart racing, he pressed his lips together. He had to keep his head. But already he was leaning in, too swept up with his emotions, and he kissed her son, automatically turning his head to kiss Hermione, too, when Ron returned, vase and flowers in hand.
"Found the one you like!" called Ron, holding up an ugly black vase. Harry knew she preferred the clear, glass-cut one.
"Thank you, Ron," said Hermione, and Harry noted the tired tinge to her voice. His hand reached down to clasp and squeeze hers once, tenderly, before he subtly withdrew.
"It was wonderful of you to bring them over, Harry. You've done so much, I can never repay you," said Hermione, looking at him, green eye to gold. There was so much he wanted to say, to express, to do and hold onto and never let go.
"Yeah mate, you've been a wonder. You'd think it was your own bairn, with all the prep you've done to help us!" laughed Ron.
Harry laughed along with Ron, never taking his arm from Hermione's shoulder. Friends held friends. Especially upon the birth of their first child.
Their first son.
Their son.
"Love you already, little man," said Harry, reaching over to touch the baby's downy cheek.
He knew he'd be a part of his life. Every moment he could.
Every step.
AN: One of the GWNI shorts I wrote (see my profile for more on GWNI). Thank you, uchiha.s, for the prompt, 'longing'! (I own nothing and make no money from this piece of writing. "Harry Potter" is copyright its original creator and rightsholders.)