May 6, 1972
It is a lovely spring morning when the letter comes. Euphemia, Fleamont and James, still sitting at the table, are quite surprised when a large barn owl comes gliding into the room, an ivory envelope tied to its leg. It lands rather gracefully on the back of one of the many empty chairs in the large, stately dining hall, it's black eyes fixed on Fleamont. It takes a moment for the dark haired man to place whose owl it is, before a warm grin breaks over his boyish features. Unwilling to wait a moment more, Fleamont quickly scrambles to his feet, nearly overturning his chair in his haste, and snatches the letter from the bird's leg, earning an outraged squawk in reply. The man paid the bird no mind, far too focused on the piece of parchment held in his hands.
"I'll be switched, it's finally happened!"
The woman and young boy trade confused looks, both watching with horrified fascination as the older man breaks out into a jig right in the middle of breakfast. Deciding to ignore the ongoing insanity until reality reasserts itself, the chestnut haired woman rises gracefully to her feet, taking a small plate full of bacon and placing it in front of the tired bird. The owl hoots gratefully, greedily seizing a rasher of bacon in one of its clawed feet. The woman had only a moment to smile fondly before a pair of strong arms around her waist sweep her into an impromptu waltz.
"Fleamont Hardwin Potter, what in Merlin's name has gotten into you?!" she all but shrieks, bright hazel eyes wide with surprise.
"It's wonderful news, Darling! Dorea and Charles are going to have a baby!"
"What?! Are you certain, Monty? After last time I thought...how far along is she?"
"Eighteen weeks! Well into the second trimester! The healers have confirmed that the child is developing well and will carry to term!"
The man's good cheer proves to be contagious as the woman soon joins him in laughter, tears of joy glistening in her eyes.
James sat stunned in his chair, never had he seen his reserved and dignified parents behave in such a fashion! He didn't know what was happening, but it had to be something special!
October 31, 1972
A frigid wind was howling through the trees, shaking the branches and rattling the windows of the large manor on the outskirts of Tulsk. Its heavy stone walls and Celtic-influenced architecture should have made it auspicious, famous even, but for the wards that kept it hidden from prying eyes. Safe within these walls, the pained cries of a woman echoed hauntingly. Pale hair clung to her sweat soaked brow as the woman tried to breathe through the worst pain she had ever experienced in her life.
"That's it, almost there! I can see the head now! Just a few more pushes!" The healer urges, excitement coloring his voice. As well it should, this being the thirteenth hour of her labor and she is well and truly ready to welcome her child into the world. For years she ached to hold a babe in her arms and now it is finally time, if only the little one would come out!
Finally, after another twenty minutes of pushing and straining, the stillness of the night is shattered by a shrill cry. She could feel her heart leap in joy as a small form was lifted into the healer's arms, a swish of his wand and all the liquid is gone from the infant's skin. Another swish and a warm smile breaks across the healer's face.
"Congratulations Mrs. Potter, it's a healthy little girl!"
She knows she should respond and thank him for all his trouble, but her eyes are locked on the still squalling form of her daughter. He gently extends the baby toward her and without even thinking she finds her arms reaching out toward her child. Only when her daughter is cradled protectively against her breast does she relax. Dorea's tired eyes drink in the sight of their long awaited gift. A tiny, upturned nose wrinkled in discontent, mouth turned downward into a frown, eyes scrunched tightly shut and tufts of dark hair fluffed wildly in all direction, soft as down feathers; she is the most perfect thing she has ever seen. At last the infant quieted down and drifted off into sleep.
"She's perfect."
The breathy whisper draws her attention to her husband, who now stands beside her at the head of the bed. His hazel eyes fixed onto their daughter's sleeping form, an expression of profound awe visible on his aristocratic features.
He spends a few breathless moments merely gazing at her, before he gingerly reaches out to stroke her chubby little cheek. Pride wars with fatherly love as he gazes upon the face of his first child.
"Have you decided upon a name?" The healer asks, a quill poised in his hand as waits to finish filling out the birth records.
"We have." Charlus responds, his eyes never leaving the child in her arms. "Welcome to the world, Cordelia Lycoris Potter."