She was really short. Or he was tall, and Frank simply couldn't decide. As he approached the podium with his very pregnant wife, Frank organized his thoughts. He shuffled through index cards, a tip he picked up from Lily. She'd bought him a box of those. Public speaking reminded him of the kiss of death. It wasn't a Dementor's Kiss or anything like that; well, he'd imagined it at least started like this. Frank did his job. In fact, he did his job really well. This wasn't simply arrogance talking because he knew his stuff after almost twenty years of civil service with the Ministry. He thought if he'd picked someone out in the crowd, the focal point would do the trick.

Frank leaned into Alice. "I'm going to vomit."

"No, you're not. Seriously?" Alice touched his pale, clammy face. She touched his forehead with the back of her hand. "You're burning up. But you knew that already. Frank?"

Frank left her standing there as the conference room filled with reporters and everyday people. He also left the index cards. He had seven minutes. Dashing to the bathroom, Frank ran right into Kingsley Shacklebolt and felt like he hit a brick wall. He sidestepped him, apologizing as he covered his mouth with his hand. He barely made it to the stall. Minutes later, he lie his head on the cold toilet seat after kneeling onto the floor. There was a knock on the stall door, the rapping of a walking stick.

"Are you dying?" Mad-Eye opened the door magically without fumbling with the inside lock. Frank crawled on the floor. "What the hell happened to you?"

In answer, Frank threw up again before he gave over to a coughing feet. Mad-Eye, without the slightest sympathy, asked him where he'd been throughout the week. Frank thought, not seeing the point. "I toured Azkaban Monday and Tuesday."

"Pneumonia," said Mad-Eye, nodding like some expert.

"No. You can't get pneumonia in the summertime," said Frank, although he did not know whether this was true or not. It was something caught in the colder months, a Muggle disease that ought to have an easy fix. He'd never contracted the disease before and wasn't too familiar with its symptoms.

"It's pneumonia. It's not as bad as the full blown thing, but it spreads easily in closed quarters where stuff isn't caught right away. Homeless shelters or prisons, it thrives in these places. I caught it once." Mad-Eye stopped, perhaps lost in his thoughts. He didn't say anything for a while. Frank, thinking he felt better, got shakily to his feet and walked over to one of the basins to wash up. He splashed water in his face; he looked and felt like hell. Mad-Eye didn't move, which made Frank think he was looking at him out of the back of his head. The elder Auror rubbed his gnarled hands together. "You want the good news or the bad news?"

Frank rolled his eyes. On top of everything else he had going on at the moment, this was just one more thing. According to whatever logic Alice went by, probably going by a calendar set by a Healer, the baby was supposed to arrive two weeks ago. Frank liked staying on schedule. His recruits and his officers learned this during their first days under his service. He was a self-admitted control freak. Alice had initially wanted a home birth, yet given her miscarriage rate and this and that, Dewey talked her into having this kid at a hospital. Frank wasn't completely stupid; he knew his wife better than anyone. Alice could change her mind tomorrow.

"The good news?" Frank had to pick one.

"Well, it doesn't last long," said Mad-Eye, shrugging. Frank did not see this as good news. He washed his hands vigorously and waited for the rest of the story. "Your wife's probably got it because you're contagious."

"Oh, God." Frank caught his meaning. Three of his family members had been taken down by this sudden bout of pneumonia, or the stomach flu, or whatever they called this bug. It was the end of the month, and he was due to attend a conference on August first. That was in three days, so Frank had no time for this illness nonsense. He gripped the basin, feeling faint. Mad-Eye steadied him. Frank decided on denial because it gave him a safer route. "No, it's the press conference. Why do you give me these speaking engagements?"

"People trust you, Frank, because you're a people person. You're a poster boy for this sort of thing. People don't like me." Mad-Eye didn't give any other examples. He planned for worse case scenarios, too, so he probably had a list of potential candidates packed away in his arsenal. "You can't do this. Go home."

"The conference already started," said Frank, checking the time on his wristwatch. It was a gift from his mother on his seventeenth birthday. He could make it through a half hour. He wouldn't offer to take questions afterwards. Someone else, anyone else for all he cared, could handle that responsibility. He followed Mad-Eye back into the conference room. Frank stopped, smiling as his wife took the reins. Alice never dropped a beat. She bit her bottom lip and maybe should've relied less on the cards, yet she was good in a pinch.

"She's stronger than you," grunted Mad-Eye. They stood in the back. Frank nodded. He couldn't argue with that, and he really didn't feel up to the task anyway. Alice finished the brief and raised her voice, asking for questions. They threw her to the wolves. Alice smiled politely, taking a question from the fourth gentleman in the front of the crowd.

"Daily Prophet, Ernie Blanc, ma'am," said a reporter with a deep voice. "You said the capture of Mr. Rowle was a step in the right direction. That's one Death Eater. What's the difference? It's rather like cutting the head off the snake, except you haven't done anything."

Frank hated questions, but he didn't want her to drown in his work. Frank weaved through the crowd to get a better view, ignoring Mad-Eye's grumbling.

"We're taking every precaution necessary. Thank you," she said, taking what Frank guessed was the most updated stats from Kingsley, who stood behind her. Frank stopped jostling the crowd when he made it to the second row. Alice took a deep breath and sipped water before she went on. "Today is the twenty-ninth of July. We're all working at least twenty hours mandatory overtime, and we've all increased our caseloads."

"With all due respect, ma'am, these are excuses," the Daily Prophet reporter cut across her. He got two questions in, which was technically against the rules. "You yourself fight for Muggle cases. You realize they call you the Caregiver?"

"No, these are statistics that will back up my facts. If you'd give me a moment to get a word in edgewise, Mr. Blanc, you'd understand that." Alice paused, wiping her forehead and setting the glass down on the wooden surface. She stopped, pulled a straight face, and checked her watch for a full minute before she continued. "We are working tirelessly to protect the public, and there are steps we urge to take with regards to the surrounding Muggle community. No one life outweighs another. We are all people, folks, let's act like it, shall we? As for the nickname, I've been called worse things during my career, so I'll take it."

Some in the crowd laughed good-naturedly.

"Four minutes," muttered Mad-Eye, knowing she couldn't possibly hear him.

"Last question. The woman in the seventh row in the green shawl. Yes, you. Hello." Alice waved at a nervous reporter who announced herself from some village newspaper. Alice nodded, thinking about the question. She asked the reporter to repeat herself. Alice took her hand off the podium and placed it behind her back. Frank saw she was stumped. As he racked his brains, he found he didn't have a suitable answer either. Alice must have realized she'd eaten up her remaining time because she asked for a rain check. She scribbled on scrap parchment, asking for the reporter's details. "Tell you what. I don't know. Let's table that one for now, and I'll get back to you. Will that do?"

The reporter said yes. Alice closed the conference and thanked from all for coming. Frank joined her when some trainee distracted Mad-Eye.

"Good job. You saved my skin." Frank noticed she shuffled her folders before handing them off to Kingsley. She gave him the secret code to the locked files and her badge number.

"Ma'am," said Kingsley, pausing when he saw her pale face. "Anything else?"

"No. No. Just tell John I'm on leave, will you? Thank you." Alice didn't want for an answer and walked off the platform. Kingsley left with his orders. He was Frank's man, but she had borrowed him today. Frank followed her, curious if the Daily Prophet reporter had angered her. When he started asking her questions and abusing the reporter left, right, and center, she stopped him, speaking slowly. "Frank, I think I'm ready. Take me home, please."

"You won't hear about the promotion till January." Frank froze when she kissed him, cutting his tangent short. Although they were married, they rarely showed public affection because they were work partners. It took a minute for him to get it. Nerves washed over him and he felt like a blundering idiot as he coughed again. "Oh, you mean... are you sure? Are you all right? Since when?"

"I'm fine. It started this morning. I didn't want to worry you because of the conference." She sounded strangely calm. Frank felt like a madman running round in circles. He kicked into overdrive, though he felt like a man without a plan. "Take me home, please. Send an owl to Dewey. It's fine ...we're fine. Are you going to pass out now? You look like hell."

"No. I almost did earlier. I'm dragging. I think I've come down with something. But - that doesn't matter." Frank took her face in his sweaty hands. "We're having a baby."

"We're having a baby," she said, nodding, laughing a little when he forgot his briefcase and raced back to retrieve it from beside the podium. They were in for a long wait.

Frank wondered when his father last had this much fight within himself. It was common knowledge among family friends that Dewey let Augusta walk all over him. Since he could stand up for himself, Dewey took on the role of a leader within the walls of St. Mungo's. He was a completely different person. Dewey was the head Healer-in-Charge on the Spell Damage floor; he ran the family needed him. He acted more like a matron for three or four days. Frank, severely dehydrated, took a hospital beside his wife.

Dewey multi-tasked like an octopus. Frank recovered first because the illness hit him on the first wave. The birth proved difficult for Alice, who had breathing problems and succumbed to coughing fits, waded through the pain for hours. Frank asked the Healers and the matrons to load him with minor potions and whatever they had on hand, yet he wasn't leaving Alice's side. In the end, as Dewey patiently promised Alice over and over again throughout the whole ordeal, they got a baby boy.

"You have to choose a name before you leave this place," said Dewey, flipping through his papers on his clipboard. He smiled at Alice, who rolled her eyes and laid back down on the bed. Dewey got the hint and switched to a more conversational tone. "I'll let you think about that. David's a nice name or there's always Dewey, you know."

"Ha! You're a funny, funny man," said Alice humorlessly. She waved Frank's hand away when he wrung the compress and placed it on her head. She frowned and leaned on whining as a last ditch effort. "Dewey, the baby's better. And you said we can go home today. Come on."

"They can go home," said Dewey, clearing things up when he pointed to Frank and the baby in the bassinet at the foot of the bed. The baby was going home on the condition he got assigned a name, of course, yet they had time. When things went from bad to worse, Dewey opted for a surgical procedure after Frank signed off on it. "You are healing from a major abdominal procedure, so you stay put, Alice ."

"I didn't give you permission," said Alice weakly, closing her eyes. "You want to take this baby away from me? He's a day old!"

"Alice," said Frank, picking up the baby after going into the bathroom to wash his hands. He picked up the syringe, dipped it into a potion vial just like his father had showed him the day before, and fed it to the baby. Dewey watched over his shoulder, nodding. He felt tired, too, but if the Healers were giving him the all clear, he was going to take it. He gathered the diaper bag, the stuff to treat the baby, and his other things. "I've got this."

"You're missing the point." She sighed in frustration. Dewey sat on the bed. "I can't even get through the first day, and I can't even pick him up."

"You want him? Here. Watch the head." Frank placed the baby in his arms and flipped through the old book on the bedside table. "You want me to read you to sleep?"

"Not a child, Frank," she said softly. He'd been reading her the damn book over the last few days to distract her. She held the baby to her chest. He was nothing special, a wrapped bundle. If she wasn't going home, she wanted to know they were coming back every day. He promised her, tapping on the book cover. Alice laid her head back, not saying anything for a while until Dewey started to drift off in a chair. "Neville."

Frank backtracked through their recent disjointed conversations, trying to see if he missed something. "Come again?"

"We're calling him Neville. Neville Christian St. Whatever wrote the book. We like it." Alice offered him the baby again.

"Neville." Frank bounced the baby and nudged his father. "We've got a name."

Frank wanted to sleep in his own bed. He could take his medications without assistance; he could read and swallow. After signing the birth certificate and telling her goodbye, Frank promised to return in the morning, or he'd come back earlier, if that's what she wanted. He placed Neville in a black pram and covered him with some light blankets. He'd be staying with his parents for the time being because he didn't feel comfortable on his own. Frank didn't know what he was doing. He walked away from Alice before she started crying; Dewey warned from of this, saying it was hormones, or emotions, or something. He followed his father out of the hospital.

"She'll be all right, Frank. She's just had a baby," said Dewey, not jumping in to take over.

"She's over emotional? Alice doesn't know what she's doing?" Frank raised an eyebrow, expecting to hear his mother's tried and false answer. He hated it. Frank maneuvered the blanket over Neville again. Neville breathed rapidly. Whenever he got nervous or felt clueless, he let the inner perfectionist take over; this made his control freak tendencies make him appear as a right slob.

"No, Frank. I'd never say that of Alice. She is a good, kind person. Neville looks like her." Dewey returned the Frank's smile, winking at him. "I was right. You're the overprotective father type."

Frank immediately took Neville in his arms when he asked fussing. They hadn't even made it past the derelict Muggle department store. He patted Neville on his back, listening to the baby's uneven breaths. Frank did nothing when the baby spit up on his red sweatshirt. He needed to send an owl and request more time off of work. The Ministry of Magic offered no paternity leave, Frank had checked. If things had gone as planned when they first got married, Neville would have been his sixth child, probably not his first son, and he'd be an old hat at this stuff.

"That's not a bad thing," said Dewey. Before they Apparated, Dewey waved his wand over the pram; it would appear at his parents' house. Frank held the baby and leaned Neville into his chest. When they showed up near his parents, Dewey laughed at the mess on the front of Frank's sweatshirt. "Yeah, get used to that, Mr. Perfect."

"This is disgusting." Frank walked into the house and handed the baby over to his mother. Augusta asked no questions and took care of everything for him, which is why he loved her. Augusta doted over Neville and got him to sleep. Escaping, Frank stripped off his sweatshirt and headed into the downstairs bathroom. Neville wouldn't sleep long with the pneumonia. He turned the faucet to its highest speed and breathed in the steam. After washing up, Frank pulled on a house robe and tossed his clothes into the laundry hamper. When he got back in the kitchen, Frank noticed Mad-Eye's head floating in the fireplace. "Hey."

Dewey dropped the small talk. Augusta handed Frank a cup of tea with lemon and honey and carried the baby in her arms.

"How's the kid?" Mad-Eye couldn't see Augusta.

"Not that great, but Neville was well enough to come home." Frank held up a hand, putting things on pause. He spit into the bin, thankful he wasn't a smoker. Mad-Eye frowned. "What?"

"The whole wide world in front of you, and the best you can from up with is Neville? It sounds boring."

"Alice would probably punch you in the face right now," Frank muttered under his breath. He changed the subject, choosing not to kneel on the ground. A man with pneumonia shouldn't stick his head into a fireplace. He was getting over it, though the dregs remained. He tried to sound cheerful and decided to discuss a recent owl he'd received at the hospital. "How's the Potters' boy? They're calling him Harry, right?"

"Yeah, he seems fine. Sirius says the boy looks like his father. Sirius asked of you wanted visitors." Mad-Eye sighed when Frank changed his disposable face mask with one hand and shook his head vigorously. "What's with your face?"

"Blood and phlegm. It's not a pleasant experience, throwing up in your mouth. I'm tired of it." Frank tossed the dirty mask in the bin. He washed his hands again. Frank called over his shoulder to his father. "Is this normal, Daddy?"

"Patience, Frank. Give your body time to clear it out." Dewey found his stockpile of frozen homemade soups and handed Frank a tall, cylindrical plastic container after warming its contents with a quick spell. "Finish your chat and eat up. That's boy's your responsibility, so don't go passing him off to your mother."

"I need a week off, please," said Frank, sitting at the kitchen table after he found a large spoon in a drawer. Mad-Eye cut the conversation short, granting his time off request with a nod. He tucked into the soup. "We'll sleep in my old bedroom. I'll keep Neville in the pram for a few days. Where's my son?"

Frank knew in the back of his mind that this was nothing. His mother had probably taken the baby into the back of the house. This was Frank's worst fear unfolding on day one. He felt like a worse failure than Alice. Panic arose, and he raised his voice, jumping to his feet and dropping his spoon. Alice was deathly afraid someone would snatch their kid in plain sight. Frank cleared his throat again.

"Mama? Mama!" Frank immediately thought about a missing child report. He turned to his father, furious when he got no answer. "Mama!"

Dewey raised his hand. "Calm down."

"What?" Augusta, haughty, glared at them. She held the baby. "Thanks for waking him, Frank."

"You can't just take the baby. Give him to me, please." Frank took Neville, relaxing a little. Frank added "paranoid, inexperienced father" to his list. Augusta opened her mouth to protest, but Dewey quelled her with a familiar look. Dewey let her wear the pants in the family, although he could easily shift the power. Frank took the spit up towel and tossed it over his shoulder. His father tossed him a bottle underhanded, and Frank somehow caught it before it slipped through his slippery fingers. The soup went cold. After giving Neville another dose of medicine, he started feeding him.

"Not bad," said Dewey, sitting down bedside him and and tapping the soup bowl, reheating it. "Do you want some bread?"

"Please." Frank set the bottle on the table, patted the baby on the back, and kissed his tiny cheek. "I gotta go see Alice, but I don't wanna leave him alone on his first night."

"And you're tired." Dewey got to the point.

"Yeah, I really, really am." Frank hoped he didn't sound too close to tears. He started feeding Neville again. He felt lost because he was caught between a rock and a hard place. Neville passed out after lunch, and Frank ate his soup one-handed. "Who do I choose?"

"Give us the baby," said Augusta.

"No, no, you're doing it again." Dewey stopped Augusta before she hit her stride. He gestured at Frank and poured him some more lemon and honey tea. "He's a thirty-eight year old man. He gets to make this call."

"I'm staying." Frank couldn't take his eyes off of his son. He also couldn't be in two places at once. "Can you go, please? I know this is my family, and they're my responsibility. When Alice gets discharged from the hospital, I will take care of them at home."

"I'm off tonight but I'll go." Dewey checked his watch.

"No, you practically live there as it is, Dewey. I'll go." Augusta gathered her red handbag and her ugly vulture topped conical hat. "I have to go into London anyway and grab a few things in Diagon Alley. Go lie down, Frank."

"Thanks, Mama." Frank got up after finishing his light lunch. There was still quite a bit in the plastic container. He'd save it for later. He kissed her on the cheek, touching his facial mask to her cheek. He shifted his boy in his arms and and headed down the corridor. He laid Neville on one of the pillows in the single bed and climbed into bed at an awkward position. The light rain outside calmed him. "Nap time."

As luck or life would have it, Frank got woken up again in no time. Naps didn't exist for him. There was a knock on his bedroom door. Mad-Eye and Dewey invited themselves inside. Dewey changed the baby, simply to have an excuse to stay in the bedroom. Of course, he stepped out to get rid of the dirty diaper. Neville rolled over and went back to sleep.

"I hate you, Mad-Eye." Frank took his potion bottle off the beside table, thinking his father left it there. He downed it in one. "You realize he was born yesterday? I just asked you for leave."

"Yeah, I know. Nice kid. He looks like his mother." Mad-Eye did not approach the bed, let alone go near Neville. He kept his revolving, magical eye on Neville. He waited, shifting his weight on his mismatched feet. "There's been a kidnapping, Frank. Damocles Belby's niece got snatched. She's five."

Frank knew that name. Belby invented the Wolfbane Potion. He was both brilliant and arrogant. Frank placed the pillow over his face. "Kill me now."

"I can ask ..." Mad-Eye didn't even bother coming up with another candidate. He didn't want anyone else in the case because Frank was his right hand man. "Frank."

"Five minutes. I want to be home in an hour an a half." They stepped out, giving him some privacy, although Mad-Eye gave no promises. Frank activated the security measures around his parents place, muttering spells under his breath. He stripped off the house robe, left it on the bed, and changed into some old robes. He left the sleeping baby. When he stepped outside into the corridor, he addressed his father. "You watch him like a hawk, Daddy. I swear, if he's got one hair out of place, we're gonna have issues. By the way, gentlemen, this never reaches Alice. I never left our son to go chasing after some stupid potioneer. I hate Belby on principle."

Both Mad-Eye and Dewey nodded. Frank rubbed his sweaty hands together, nodded curtly, convincing himself he was taking this assignment, and marched out of the house. He almost forgot his wand.