Instalment 3. This chapter is the reason the story is rated T – coarse language. You have been fairly warned. I hope you enjoy :) Reviews appreciated!
Three: Words, Hands, Hearts
"It's going to be okay, Ginny, I promise, just breathe, okay? Deep breaths, just take deep breaths, breathe in and-"
"If you tell me to fucking breathe one more fucking time, I'm going to hex the shit out of you," Ginny hissed through gritted teeth as another wave of pain washed over her, forcing her to double over and clutch desperately at the blankets. Harry blinked in shock at the ferocity of her words. He knew she was in pain. He knew she didn't mean it. That didn't make him any less surprised. Or bemused. He now felt as useless as horns on a hippogriff.
"Oh. Right. Well...did you want me to leave?" He asked uncertainly, edging away towards the door. Suddenly, Ginny's hand lashed out like a striking snake, grasping his shirt and keeping him rooted firmly to the spot.
"If you leave me here by myself, I will Petrificus Totalus your ass."
The healer bustling around Ginny setting her up for labour snorted at the young couple's antics. Ah, to be young and in love, and in the midst of labour.
"Well, what do you want me to do?"
"Switch places with me."
"Not possible, even with all the magic in the world."
"Well, stand there and hold my hand and look fucking pretty okay? Just – shit!" She gasped as another contraction rolled over here.
Harry was beginning to regret teaching her all those muggle swearwords.
"You're getting close now, Mrs Potter. Won't be long," the healer consoled her, smirking at the startled looking Harry Potter. Ginny's hand crushed his so hard that his knuckles burned white, and he struggled not to wince and pull his hand away. Apparently, being famous didn't save you from the dramatics of childbirth.
The sheen of sweat across her brow, the sickly pallor of her skin, the expression of utter exhaustion and agony scrawled across her face, and the tension of her body had completely freaked Harry out. He, Harry Potter, The Chosen One, slayer of Voldemort, was totally terrified of childbirth, and overwhelmingly frightened for his wife. But he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and not ask the redundant "Are you alright?" that kept springing to mind. He just let her squeeze his hand in a death-grip as contraction after contraction rocked her body. Until, finally:
"Alright, Mr and Mrs Potter, it's time."
Hours later, an exhausted Ginny curled up on the bed, in the comforting circle of her husband's arms, as a warm rush of relief and giddy exhilaration washed over her. The couple cuddled in companionable silence, their attention completely fixated on the small, precious bundle tucked between them.
He had entered the world howling and squirming, and hadn't stopped until he'd had his first bath and feed. He now stared curiously back at his parents with twinkling hazel eyes, squirming half-heartedly against his firmly-wrapped blankets, and emitting the occasional mewl or gurgle.
"He's perfect, Harry," Ginny whispered in a wavering voice, gently playing with her newborn son's tiny fingers. Harry nodded in agreement, the lump in his throat preventing him from talking. Truth be told, he was still terrified; terrified of the vulnerability of this tiny being before him, terrified of being responsible for him. Sure, he already had Teddy, but he'd never had to raise him – he just got to be the cool godfather. But then, those tiny fingers had reached out and wrapped around his own. And he realised that already his baby boy, so small and helpless but so full of life, had totally captured his heart; it seemed to swell to bursting point with pride and love and joy. He ran a hand softly over the thick, unruly tuft of black hair covering the tiny skull. It was already obvious to Harry that this little boy was going to be trouble; a regular mischief-making marauder. Grinning at the thought, Harry turned his attention to his teary-eyed wife.
"Let's call him James. James Sirius Potter."
Ginny eyed her restless, wriggling baby for a moment, pondering the name. Before long, she had turned to plant a soft kiss on Harry's cheek.
"Yes. It suits him perfectly. James Sirius Potter," she cooed to the infant. And baby James gurgled contentedly in agreement.