A/N: Yep. Rushed (fluffy) ending. I did try to keep this story a bit long, but I think I covered what I need to. Enjoy yourselves.
Why am I so fat?
Ginny stared at herself in the mirror and sighed. Three months had passed since the day Baby Potter had decided to make it his or her home in Ginny's uterus. Since then, Ginny had gained an annoying amount of weight, especially on her thighs. She looked paler, older, fatter . . . uglier. The other day she'd run into her former Divination teacher, and her friend. As she walked away, she'd heard Professor Trelawney whisper that she had really let herself go. It was not a great day.
She glanced into her reflection once more and noticed Harry standing over her shoulder, looking at the mirror as intently as she'd been. She forced herself to keep her voice steady. "What are you looking at?"
"I was just thinking," Harry smiled, turning the soon-to-be mother to him. "That you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met."
The fourth month was a strange one. After three months of mostly wanting nothing to do with Harry, Ginny suddenly wanted to spend every moment with him . . . in bed. This was the cause of extremely animal lovemaking (but not too much, because of the fact of the baby). Harry was a big fan of this stage.
Ginny would never forget the day in her fifth month when she went to answer the door in her kimono after a particularly ferocious session, figuring it was probably one of the neighbours coming to call for a carton of eggs or something of the sort. She was a bit surprised when she came face-to-face with a man who Harry had informed her was a "policeman."
"We've had a noise complaint," the man explained, looking slightly embarrassed as he took in her wardrobe. "and I'm just going to give you a warning this time. Please, ma'am, try to keep it down."
The seventh month was a hard one. Ginny began experiencing frequent back pain, heartburn, and leg cramps. She found breathing more difficult and spent most of her time each day in the bathroom. She might have been able to modify this with magic, but she and Harry had agreed for the birth and pregnancy to be 100 natural, without either of them even knowing the gender or actual birth date of the baby (of course, they knew the due date). Ginny was starting to regret that decision.
Midway through the eighth month, Ginny became dehydrated and collapsed on her bed, terrifying Harry, who immediately sent an owl to the Healers at St. Mungo's.
"Great going, Harry," Ginny muttered as she was slowly revived. "You invite hot Healers over only when I look like a pear."
Harry blinked, and then noticed the muscle definition of the nearest Healer.
"Oi, Hotstuff, get your paws away from my wife!"
By the ninth and final month of pregnancy, Ginny was sick and tired of being pregnant. She was almost a week past her due date and she didn't want to move from her bed unless it was to have the baby. Yet, somehow, she summoned up enough energy to allow her mother into her home. Upon seeing Molly Weasley, Ginny burst into tears.
"Why won't it end? I just want to get this over with so that everything will be easier! Tell me, Mum, tell me it'll be easier!"
"Ginny, I can't lie to you." Molly looked her daughter in the eye, a knowing smile on her face. "It's hard, having a child. There are some days when you want to smack them over the head with a broomstick. Yes, even you!" she laughed. "And labour is no walk in the grove, either."
"But whoever this person may turn out to be, he or she is a part of you, and always will be. You will always, always want to keep this little one safe, even when you have to let him or her go. Because nothing is worse than losing a child."
Ginny looked up then and knew exactly what her mother was thinking. Fred's cheerful face flashed before her, and she tried to imagine losing the unborn inside of her. The idea itself made her want to fall apart.
"But no matter what happens, Ginny . . . it will always be worth it. Always."
It was at this moment that the new mother's water broke.
"Harry James Potter, if I get my hands on you, I will strangle you for doing this to me!" Ginny screamed as the Healers wheeled her into the birthing room. Harry, considerably frightened, turned to Mrs. Weasley.
"Well . . . I mean, she's overreacting, right? Labour can't be that . . ."
Mrs. Weasley gave him one of the coldest looks he had ever been on the receiving end of.
Right. Brilliant, Harry. Who do you say this to? The mother of seven. If one Weasley woman doesn't kill you, the other certainly will.
"Harry!"
As was custom on occasions like these, Harry's vision was completely impaired by a mass of bushy brown hair.
"Harry, we've just heard, Ron's already trying to get into the birthing room but the Healers said only you and Ginny were allowed—but then why aren't you in there with her? This is one of the most special days of your life!"
"She, um . . . isn't feeling too happy with me right now."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Harry. You know it's not her talking. It's the pain. Your wife needs you. Go get your arse in there and be there for her, like you promised us you would. Go on."
She pushed him in the right direction and, with one deep breath, prepared to follow these directions.
Just breathe, he thought. Breathe.
"Breathe! Breathe! Breathe! Breathe!"
"I AM BREATHING, POTTER, DO YOU THINK I WOULD BE HERE IF I WASN'T?!"
"Come on, Ginny, you can do it! Push! Push!"
"YOU'RE GOING TO PAY FOR THIS!"
"Push! Push!"
"I HOPE THE BABY RIPS OUT YOUR TESTICLES!"
". . . Push! Come on, Gin, just one more big push and . . ."
"AAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!"
"And . . ."
"Mrs. Potter . . . it's over. You're done."
"Hear that Ginny? We're done! It's over!"
"What did you do?! And would it kill you lot to tell me the sex?"
"Why are we talking about sex?"
"THE SEX OF THE BABY, POTTER!"
"Mrs. Potter, it's all right. He's here. Your beautiful baby boy."
She couldn't stop staring at him. James Sirius Potter, here in all his glory.
Harry had left for the time being, along with the rest of the people who had all congregated at the hospital to congratulate them. She didn't know if he felt like a father yet, and was still trying to forgive him for the general agony she'd gone through over the past 34 hours. But she certainly knew about herself, here, alone with him at last.
His eyes, already turning a warm brown to match her own, peered at her curiously. His hand reached out and grabbed her finger, refusing to let go, the way she knew she would someday. At least he was attached to her for the time being.
"Hello, James," she called to her new son. "Hello."