Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition - Round 9

Team: Wimbourne Wasps

Position: Beater 2

Scenario: One of the Next Generation children is born with a physical or mental disease.

Little Miracle

It was late on Friday night when she first felt the contractions. Hermione was lying on her back beside Ron, trying to drown out his snores unsuccessfully. It was proving more difficult than she initially thought. She had first woken from her sleep with a pain in her stomach. She was eight months pregnant with their second child and Hermione was used to pre-contractions and pain. It was nothing new. But the discomfort had robbed her off sleep and no matter how hard she tried, her body refused to shut down.

She glanced beside her to see Ron, lying on his stomach with his head turned towards her; his mouth open and the most adorable look on his sleeping face. She smiled down at him and ran her fingers softly through his hair. Her actions caused him to wake up and he grinned groggily up at her.

"Hey," he mumbled before his words were muffled by a ridiculously large yawn.

"Hey," Hermione said with a laugh. Ron sat up on his elbows and kissed her sweetly before resting his hands on her bulging stomach.

"You alright?" he asked as he rubbed soothing circles over her belly.

Hermione nodded slowly, giving him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine," she told him.

Suddenly, small cries erupted from the room next door. It was Rose. Ron groaned and made to get up when Hermione put her hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright, I'll get her. You go back to sleep," she told him. When he began to protest, she insisted that she was fine, and rose awkwardly out of bed. Her lower back ached and the pain in her stomach grew worse as she waddled down the hall to Rose's bedroom. If Hermione thought pregnancy with her daughter had been difficult, it was nothing compared to this time. She had put on more weight than when she was pregnant with Rose and her feet and ankles were heavily swollen. She felt like a rapidly inflating balloon.

The trip down the hall left her breathless and she rested against the door for a moment, taking large, deep breaths, before entering. Her little Rose was wailing in her crib, her mouth wide open and thick tears streaming down her freckled cheeks. Hermione's heart broke at the sight and her maternal instincts kicked in. She hated it when her daughter cried – it was the most heart wrenching sound in the world.

"Shh, Rosie," she cooed, swooping down and picking up the squealing infant, cradling her to her bosom. "It's alright, sweetie. Mummy's here now." She rocked Rose from side to side, patting her back gently. Just over a year old, Rose was quite a developed child. She had already begun to walk and her speech was coming along quite nicely. She had a thick head of bright red hair and large, bright blue eyes, just like her father. Hermione had never thought she could love anyone as much as she loved Ron, but after birthing Rose, she found her heart had swelled to an enormous size. Hermione loved motherhood, and couldn't wait for their next child to be brought into this world.

After a few minutes of gentle rocking, Rose eventually calmed down and snuggled into her mother's chest. Hermione smiled and kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair down.

"That's a girl," she whispered and patted Rose's back softly before laying her back down in her crib. Rose gurgled and stuck her thumb between her teeth as she curled up into a ball. One of her chubby arms curled around the stuffed bear and drew it closer to her chest. Hermione stroked her cheek gently and draped the blanket over her sleeping daughter.

As she made her way back to her bedroom, she felt a searing pain rip through her stomach. Liquid trickled down the insides of her legs and she grasped her belly protectively, her brown eyes widening in realisation. She called out for Ron and held onto the doorframe for support. Her contractions were ruthlessly painful and she gritted her teeth. Ron rounded the corner quickly and gasped when he saw his wife. He rushed to her side and helped her to stand.

"He's coming. The baby's coming," Hermione rasped as another wave of contractions incapacitated her. Ron nodded in understanding – he knew exactly what to do after the first pregnancy – and helped her hobble down to the fireplace.

"Are you okay to Floo?" he asked her gently. She gritted her teeth and nodded roughly. "Hang on, I'll send a message to Mum. She'll look after Rosie."

He pulled out his wand and summoned his terrier patronus, which sat down obediently at his feet. Ron instructed it to find Mrs Weasley, before he turned his attention back to Hermione. The terrier disappeared into the flames and mere seconds later, Mrs Weasley stepped out of the fireplace, looking extremely flustered. She dusted soot off her cloak and hurried over to help Hermione.

"Oh dear, you must get her to the hospital," she told Ron firmly. "Where's Rose?"

"In the crib," Ron said as Hermione groaned and clutched her stomach. The contractions were coming in painful waves and she was breathing quite forcefully through gritted teeth. "She should be sleeping. Just look after her until we come home."

Mrs Weasley clicked her tongue and shook her head at her son. "Don't be silly, Ron. There is no way I am missing the birth of another grandchild. I'll bring Rosie along with me."

Before Ron could protest, Hermione let out a scream and doubled over in pain.

"Ron," she rasped. "Hurry."

Her nodded and led her into the fireplace. Taking a handful of Floo Powder, he threw it into the pit and the two of them disappeared into a gulf of green flames.

...

After twenty-two hours, Hugo Charles Weasley was finally brought into the world. As soon as it was over, Hermione slumped back against the pillows, utterly exhausted. The labour had been longer than with Rose, who had been born only seven hours after Hermione had been admitted. The Healer swept Hugo away as soon as he had been born before she had even a chance to hold her newborn son in her arms. Her protests had been ignored and, although she was concerned about why her baby had been whisked away, she was too exhausted to press the matter.

Ron hovered over her, stroking her forehead gently and smoothing her damp hair back from her face. His blue eyes were bright and alive as he regarded her tenderly.

"You did brilliant, love," he told her, leaning down to plant a kiss on her temple. She smiled weakly up at him.

"Where is he? Where's my baby?"

Just as the words left her lips, the Healer returned with a clipboard and a solemn expression. Hermione raised herself on her elbows and stared at him inquisitively.

"Mr Weasley, Mrs Weasley," he greeted them. His tone of voice worried Hermione; it was emotionless. It made her uneasy.

"Where's Hugo?" she demanded, trying desperately to ignoring the sinking feeling in her heart. "Where's my baby?"

The Healer sighed deeply and ran a hand through his sandy hair. "Hugo has been placed in intensive care, under the watch of some senior Healers. We fear," he paused and Hermione gripped Ron's hand tightly. "That he has been born with cystic fibrosis."

Ron gasped and Hermione closed her eyes as she took in the information. Cystic fibrosis? She recalled her parents telling her about such a disease, after a patient they once treated was inflicted. Not many with the disease lived past the age of thirty. The thought that her little boy would grow up with such a threatening disease was heartbreaking and at first, Hermione thought it was a cruel joke. Tears leaked out of her eyes and she shook her head.

"No," she whispered. "It's not true."

"Are you certain?" Ron asked tentatively, his voice thick with emotion.

The Healer nodded. "We believe so."

"Is there anything we can do?"

"Prevent him from developing viruses. Even the common cold can be life-threatening."

Hermione was amazed that Ron was acting so rational. Usually the roles were reversed, but she was grateful for her husband's strength. She didn't think she could keep it together. Outside the wing, Mrs Weasley was bouncing little Rosie on her hip, smiling in at them. It made Hermione sick. How could she break the news to her mother-in-law, that she had a diseased child? She didn't even know she was a carrier for cystic fibrosis; maybe Ron had been. Either way, the news would be devastating. With such a perfect little daughter, how could anyone expect anything less of her son?

Ron noticed her turmoil and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "It's going to be okay, Hermione," he told her. "He's going to be fine. We'll take good care of him."

She nodded and turned back to the Healer. "Can I hold him? Please?"

Nodding quickly, he left the room and soon returned with a bundle of blankets. Hermione reached out her arms instinctively and he placed her baby between them. Tears welled in her eyes as she regarded her newborn son. He blinked up at her with large, brown eyes, which Hermione recognised as her own. Rose was a spitting image of Ron, with her red hair and blue eyes, so Hermione felt elated that her son resembled her. Ron leant over her shoulder and stroked Hugo's bald head gently as she cradled him to her chest.

"Hey, little man," he whispered softly, his eyes slightly glazed over with adoration. "You look just like your mother. We're going to take good care of you, alright. We're not going to let anything happen to you."

Hermione sniffled and kissed Hugo's forehead. "We love you, Hugo. We love you so much, and we are so happy that you are here."

The two parents enjoyed this moment, knowing it wouldn't be forever and tried their best to forget about the horrifying disease that plagued their newborn son. For a moment, everything was right in the world, and the cold reality was far from their minds, just for a little while.

A/N: This is an AU story, written only for this round. It has nothing to do with my Head Cannon, but I enjoyed writing it anyway. Please leave a review on your way out :) xx