A/N: I've spent the past few weeks going over and over this chapter which sent me down many long, winding and ultimately wrong roads before I finally hit on something that seemed to work. Even so, I'm not one hundred percent sure it DOES work, but as always I'll let you decide. Happy belated birthday to Ida (noviwanwife), by the way. Sorry I didn't get this posted in time to offer it as a true birthday greeting, but better late than never.

Chapter Twenty-Four

All Through the Night

Ginny was released from St. Mungo's just two days after the birth, but continued to spend most of her time there. She even slept at the hospital for the first few weeks, terrified of what might happen in her absence, though it tore her heart out to be away from James. Children weren't permitted in the neonatal unit because of the danger of infection, so Ginny had to be make do with scattered, stolen moments with her older son. He was hardly neglected, as Molly and Arthur had moved into Grimmauld Place to look after him, and there were a plethora of aunts and uncles ready to lavish him with love and affection. But he cried so bitterly each time his mother left that Ginny usually returned to St. Mungo's with tears in her own eyes. Her mother insisted that James was going through a phase. All children went through clingy stages, Molly said, but Ginny was not reassured. James had already been deprived of his father for several months, and now Mummy was absent as well. Poor baby, no wonder he was confused! But James was big and healthy, and Albus was tiny and fragile. Ginny had to make a choice, but it tore her heart out just the same.

In the NICU, life was a roller coaster. One day they were up, the next they were down. Time seemed to drag, but also flew. On Monday the healers reported that Albus had gained two whole ounces. Ginny dreamed of plump cheeks, dimpled arms, and fat little fists waving in the air. But on Wednesday, he stopped breathing. On Thursday he became jaundiced. On Friday he ran a slight fever, and on Saturday he developed a reflux that wouldn't allow him to keep anything down. His anxious parents watched and waited, and the family gathered to offer support. Then on Sunday he rallied and began taking milk again, and suddenly it was Monday once more.

It could have been worse. That was one advantage to spending so much time in the NICU, though it was scant comfort to see other babies in even worse condition. Albus was only moderately premature and his problems were, for the most part, manageable. The same could not be said of one tiny girl who weighed just six hundred grams, and had been born with a heart defect that had, so far, mystified the healers. Her skin was so thin that it was apt to tear if anyone touched her, and she was on a ventilator so her anxious mother, a plump, pretty witch with short blonde hair, did not even have the comfort of holding her. Instead she spent hours staring at the incubator and developed a habit of biting her knuckles during moments of crisis, which were frequent. When Ginny first spoke to her, nearly four weeks after Albus's precipitous entry into the world, the backs of the young mother's hands reminded her of Bill's face after his attack by Fenrir Greyback.

"Your first?" Ginny asked kindly, after they had exchanged silent smiles for several days.

"Yes," the blonde witch replied. "You?"

"My second," Ginny replied. "We have another little boy, just fifteen months old. We didn't expect to have another child quite so soon, but. . ." She spread her hands helplessly. "These things happen."

"I didn't think it ever would for me," the other woman said wistfully. "We tried for years, went through testing, fertility treatments, the lot. We were so excited when we learned it had finally happened. I was careful, too, right from the start. I was so careful. I just don't understand it." She sighed. "The healers say they don't know why Abeona was born so early. But there has to be a reason because everything has to be for a reason. At least I always thought so."

"Not always," Ginny said, thinking of all the violent, senseless deaths she had witnessed. "I'm Ginny, by the way. Ginny Potter."

"Yes, I know," the blonde witch said shyly. "I recognized you and your husband from photos in the Daily Prophet. I'm Meghan Deverill."

Ginny tensed, waiting for the inevitable questions, which ranged from, "What's Harry Potter really like?" to "How does it feel to be the Chosen One's chosen one?" Ginny had long since come to terms with the celebrity that resulted from marrying the most famous wizard in Britain, but had never really stopped resenting the loss of privacy that went along with it. But the blonde witch asked no questions, and after a minute Ginny said, "You wouldn't be any relation to Philbert Deverill, would you? He's the manager of. . ."

"Puddlemere United," said Meghan. "He's my father-in-law."

"Oh!" said Ginny, brightening, for here she was on familiar ground. Phil Deverill had tried to lure her away from the Harpies to fly for his own team, but she had turned him down. She'd always liked him, though, and had interviewed him several times for her column. "You married Phil's son, then?"

"Yes. My husband, Geoff, is a buyer for Quality Quidditch Supplies. You may have seen him here a few days ago. Tall man, rather thin, with light brown hair."

"Of course," said Ginny, recalling the shy young wizard she had spotted soon after the tiny girl was brought to the NICU.

"Your husband is usually with you, isn't he?" Meghan said. "I think this is the first time I've ever seen you without him."

"He had a, er, business meeting," said Ginny. Harry had been with her every single day since Albus's birth, for after his duty in the Balkans he reckoned he was due a bit of a holiday. Today, however, he was meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt regarding testimony in the upcoming trial of Augustus Rookwood. Hermione had taken a great interest in the case, and had written an Amicus Curiae brief that impressed the Ministry's chief prosecutor. According to Harry, it had practically guaranteed her a job in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement once she passed the wizarding bar, but this would have to wait, as her pregnancy had by now reached a stage where it was difficult for her to get out of a chair, let alone sit a series of mind-numbing legal exams.

"Geoff's job takes him abroad a good deal," Meghan continued in the same wistful tone. "He hates being away so much, with the baby so ill. It's hard sometimes."

"I'm sure it is," Ginny said, making a private vow to check in with this lonely young woman from time to time.

Meghan Deverill continued to sit alone beside her baby's incubator, but Ginny spoke to her often during the long days and nights of watchful waiting. The quiet young husband appeared periodically, and once Ginny caught a glimpse of Phil Deverill and his wife, but Meghan seemed to have no family of her own. Ginny couldn't imagine trying to cope without the support of her husband and family. As it was, there were times when she barely coped with them.

Ginny spent a lot of time holding Albus next to her skin, trying to coax him to take just a little more milk, or gently rocking him in one of the many rocking chairs the nursery provided. But she quickly grew tired of the drama and heartache, the worry and waiting, and sometimes she just wished it could all be over. These thoughts always horrified her, and Ginny wondered what sort of monster mother she was to be thinking that way. A helpless baby fought for his life, and all she could think was how tired she was? She couldn't help it, though. She was tired of days that ran together, tired of mornings that blurred into afternoons, and sick to death of afternoons that blended into evenings before the whole process began all over again the very next day.

In the early days Albus was too weak to suckle, so Ginny pumped her breasts every couple of hours and watched as the milk was administered through a tube in the baby's nose. Eventually he was able to nurse, but it wore him out so much that he would fall asleep after just a few minutes. It was a nearly endless process that left everyone exhausted, and Ginny's nerves were worn nearly raw. She didn't know how she would have managed without Harry's support, and he did his own share of holding, coaxing, rocking, and worrying. More than once he was called upon to give even more blood to replace the toxins in his son's tiny veins, and it struck Ginny as ironic that once his blood had been forcefully taken because of one man's greed and arrogance. Now it was freely offered out of love. Was that the reason Albus overcame so many obstacles? Had some of Lily's protection passed through Harry's blood? Whatever the cause, both parents gave of themselves, milk and blood alike, and together they watched their child grow strong.

Little by little, inch by painful inch, Albus grew. At first he would gain a few ounces only to lose them again when the next crisis hit, but soon he began to grow at a steady pace and the parents dared allow themselves to hope. One day the healers announced that he weighed three pounds. Ginny realized that his skin was no longer transparent, and a tuft of black hair clung to the small skull. She began sleeping at home so she could spend more time with James, though only after leaving enough expressed milk to last Albus through the night. By the sixth week he weighed nearly four pounds, some of the tubes and wires began to disappear, and the greenish tint in his eyes became even more pronounced.

Ginny commented on this one morning after she and Harry had both had a good night's sleep and enjoyed the novelty of breakfasting with James, during which they'd tried teaching him his baby brother's name, though so far the best he could produce was "Ow-butt."

"He's got your eyes, you know," she said, when they had Apparated to St. Mungo's and were making their way toward the NICU. "In fact, I think Albus is going to look just like you."

"Poor kid," Harry replied. "He'll have no luck with girls."

Ginny stopped in mid-stride. "I beg your pardon? Didn't you have amazing luck with girls?"

"Well, there was Cho Chang. . ."

Ginny punched him in the arm. "Do you have a death wish? I was talking about me, you prat!" She tried to hit him again, but he captured her hands and grinned down at her. The teasing glint in his eyes caused her mouth to twist in wry amusement. But in a moment her laugher turned to sighs.

"He is better, isn't he?" she asked. "Isn't he?"

"Of course he is," Harry assured her. "Didn't the healers say we might be able to take him home soon?"

"What if he stops breathing again? He's had three episodes this week alone."

"They have monitors we can use at home," Harry reminded her. "And they wouldn't release him if they weren't sure. It'll be all right, love. The worst is behind us now. I really believe that."

He was a rock, Ginny decided. A solid, dependable, lovable rock, and he had such a nice face. It was a husband's face, fond, familiar, and deeply beloved. "Have I told you lately how wonderful you are?"

"You might have. But feel free to tell me again, if you like."

"You're wonderful," Ginny said obligingly. "I love you so much, Harry."

"You're pretty wonderful yourself," said Harry. "And I love you, too."

They strolled into the NICU hand-in-hand, but their smiles faded when they saw the subdued faces of the healers. A few had reddened eyes, as though they'd been crying. A quick glance showed that little Abeona's incubator was empty.

Ginny felt a dreadful, sinking sensation. "The Deverill baby?"

Healer Galen looked up. "It was that heart anomaly, I'm afraid. We did our best, but. . ." He shook his head sadly.

"When?" asked Harry, who had grown equally fond of Meghan and her small, scrappy daughter.

"Last night," Galen replied. "Just after midnight."

"Was she alone?" Ginny asked desperately. "Mrs. Deverill? Was she by herself when. . . when it happened?"

"Her husband arrived just in time. They were together at the end."

"Thank God for that," murmured Harry, who looked nearly as stricken as Ginny felt.

"I should have been here," Ginny whispered. "I should have been with her!"

"You had no way of knowing," said Harry.

"I know, but. . . Oh, Harry!"

Harry put his arms around her, and Ginny closed her eyes, too devastated to cry, but too stunned to speak. Meghan's anxious, hopeful face swam before her. The baby girl had overcome so much. She had seemed to be getting stronger, too. What had happened? Why had it happened? "There has to be a reason because everything has to be for a reason." But what reason was there? What justification could there be for something like this?

Ginny turned away from the sight of that empty incubator. "I have to get out of here."

"Of course," said Harry. "I understand. Why don't you go for a walk? I'll go with you."

"No," Ginny said. "One of us. . . One of us should stay with Albus."

Harry eyed her with concern. "Shall I send for someone? Your mum, perhaps?"

"No," Ginny said. "I'll. . . I'll just pump first so you can feed Albus when he wakes up."

Ginny walked the streets outside St. Mungo's in a fog of misery. She kept her head down, staring at the pavement beneath her feet, her footsteps pounding in time to the beat of her own heart, and she thought: It happens sometimes that you can hear your own heart beat and are reminded that someday it will stop. That amazing little pump begins to pulsate just hours after conception and works on tirelessly, never ceasing save for the occasional flutter or pause, until the day comes when, through accident or illness, it stops altogether. Fred's heart had stopped. Her brother's heart, and the hearts of so many others, no longer beat. Someday the same thing would happen to everyone else she loved, because to love anyone was to risk loss. And what was it all about, what was any of it for, if birth was just the first step toward dying?

Ginny caught sight of herself in a shop window. She scarcely recognized the chalk-white, hollow-cheeked stranger that stared back at her. It had been weeks since she'd looked properly at a mirror, and had not realized how darkly shadowed her eyes were, nor how bizarrely dressed she was. Unable to fit into her pre-pregnancy clothes as yet, she wore a pair of Harry's jeans with the cuffs turned up, and pulled on an old jumper, shoving her feet into a pair of manky old trainers to complete the ensemble. She had been too rushed and worried to care about her appearance, but now her reflection nearly pushed her over the edge into a storm of weeping. She turned away just in time. Tears never solved anything. They only made it worse.

Ginny sank onto the curb, oblivious of the stares of passing Muggles who no doubt thought her a lunatic. She didn't care. It was hard to care about anything. It made no sense. Abeona had been getting better. Everyone said so, but they'd said the same thing about Albus, hadn't they? Could she believe them? Did she dare believe them? That was the thing about hope. It hurt all the more when the hoped for object was yanked away. Hope was cruel, Ginny decided. Hope was dangerous. Hope could kill.

But Ginny had to believe Albus was better. She couldn't bear not to. Abeona had been born at just twenty-six weeks gestation, and she had that heart defect besides. But Albus still had those three great tests to pass, and what was the point of pulling him through all this if even greater dangers awaited him? Random threads of dreams kept coming back to her: Special destiny . . spirit of a great master. . . birth symbolizes struggles he must face later in life. And Ginny wanted to scream at the injustice because it wasn't fair, it wasn't right! Why her child? Why their child? Hadn't they sacrificed enough? Hadn't they already paid sufficient homage to the greedy gods of the Greater Good? But Ginny hadn't not yet paid the ultimate price. Not the way Meghan, Andromeda, or her own mother had, for she had not lost a child. Would that sacrifice be demanded of her one day? Would that be the final cost of Harry's own survival?

A shadow loomed and a voice said, "Ginny?"

"Hermione!" Ginny's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Did Harry send for you?"

"No, I haven't seen Harry. I have an appointment with Healer Giatros this morning, and I saw you sitting here. How are you?"

"Fine," Ginny replied dully.

Hermione regarded her. "Is anything wrong?"

Ginny decided against telling her. Hermione was about to have a baby of her own. She didn't need to hear something like that. Besides, Ginny didn't want to talk about it. She couldn't without bursting into tears.

"It's nothing," she said. "I'm just feeling a little down is all."

"Oh," said Hermione. "Post-partum depression?"

"No!" Ginny said. "It's nothing like that, it's. . . Didn't you say you had an appointment?"

"I have plenty of time. I'm actually quite early. Feel like walking? There's a park a few blocks away. Maybe we can find a bench. I'd sit on the curb, but I have a feeling I'd never get up again."

The day was overcast with a brisk wind blowing. Buds had begun to appear on the trees, but as yet there was little color to break up the monotony. Ginny recalled a poem her mother had forced her to memorize as a child, which began: April is the cruelest month. Miserable time of year, she thought. Rainy, foggy, wet, dismal. Maybe she could go back to bed and not get up again until May.

The two women found an unoccupied bench and sat down, watching shoppers and office workers rush past. Where were they all going, and why the hell were Muggles always in such a hurry?

"How's Albus?" Hermione asked.

"The healers told us we might be able to bring him home soon. Perhaps as early as next week."

"That's wonderful."

"Yes," Ginny said. "Isn't it?"

"Ginny," Hermione said quietly, "you don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. But if you need a shoulder to cry on, this blouse is drip dry."

Ginny opened her mouth to repeat her assertion that nothing was wrong, but to her surprise the news about Meghan's baby came tumbling out and by the time she had finished telling Hermione her cheeks were wet with tears.

Hermione's own eyes were moist. "Oh, Ginny, how awful! No wonder you're upset."

"It isn't only that," Ginny said. "It's. . . it's Albus, too."

"Why? What's wrong with Albus?"

"Nothing. Yet." And she told Hermione everything she could recall of her last dream, including the legend of the Chosen One, but leaving out the two companions who would accompany him on his journey, one of whom "shares a bond of blood. . . Conceived, as he was, in a place of love and magic." Ginny felt this would be too much to lay on Hermione so close to her delivery date. The decision proved sound, for by the time she had finished, Hermione was a bit pale.

"I shouldn't have told you," Ginny said. "You have enough on your mind, with your baby due so soon. I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have. . ."

"I'm not that fragile," Hermione interrupted. "I only wish you'd told me sooner. I hate to think of you walking round with this bottled up inside you all this time."

"It hasn't been bottled up," Ginny said. "I've talked to Harry, but we've been so focused on the baby and . . . Well, I know it's only a dream, but it wasn't just one dream, Hermione. It was a series of dreams, all of which have proven incredibly prescient. And Harry heard about this legend in the Balkans. Don't you think there's reason to worry?"

Hermione said, "I'm reminded of a quote I once heard by a writer who said, 'I've seen a lot of trouble in my life, most of which never happened.'"

"What if it does happen? What if it's all true?"

"Then we'll deal with it," said Hermione, "when and if we have to, but it'll be all of us, not just you and Harry. We're in it together, Ginny. We always have been and always will be, and believe it or not, I think I understand how you feel. Ever since I've been pregnant the whole world seems more dangerous. There are hazards that I never noticed before, and when I think about all the narrow misses I had with Ron and Harry, I feel so sorry for my parents, not to mention your mum and dad. But we survived. By the skin of our teeth sometimes, but here we still are."

"And what about the ones who aren't here?" Ginny demanded. "Cedric? Colin? My brother?"

"Who could have guessed that Cedric would be killed in the Triwizard Tournament?" Hermione said. "Or that a wall would fall on Fred in that corridor? Granted, those were dangerous situations, but Cedric could just as easily not have touched that portkey, and that wall could have fallen on Percy, Harry, Ron, me, or any of the Death Eaters we were fighting. It was random chance, Ginny, or fate, or maybe both. It was nothing that could have been predicted, and there was nothing anyone could have done to prevent it."

"You believe in fate?" Ginny said, astonished to hear such words from Hermione's lips. "Since when?"

"All I know is that people can end up in the wrong place at the wrong time, or the right place at the right time. Maybe there's no real rhyme or reason to any of it, but I've seen it happen far too often not to believe that destiny, or whatever you want to call it , plays some part. It can't be controlled, any more than you can control the seasons or harness the tides. Trying to control it is like trying to fight a mist with swords. You'll only wear yourself out, and what's the point if whatever you're fighting is going to happen anyway?"

Ginny arched a brow. "That's a rather, er, extemporaneous attitude, isn't it? I thought you always liked to be prepared."

Hermione sighed. "It's probably down to Ron's influence. He's never prepared for anything."

"Oh, dear. What's he done this time?"

"Well, nothing, per se, it's more that. . . All right, you know Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown have that divination shop in Diagon Alley? Apparently they've decided they need larger premises, and they've put in a bid on the shop next door to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

"That certainly sounds. . . cozy."

"Doesn't it? But you see, it's all down to Ron's lack of prepardness. He intended to bid on that shop, but he held off too long and now it looks like Lavender and Parvati might get it. It just makes me wonder if there wasn't some subconscious motivation on his part. . ."

"Oh, Hermione," said Ginny. "You don't honestly believe that. Ron loves you! And Lavender is such a slag."

"Was a slag," Hermione said sadly. "She's a successful businesswitch now. And he used to fancy her."

"No, he didn't. Not really. He was just trying to make you jealous."

"Well, it worked. And that was then, Ginny. This is now. Just look at me! I'm a blimp!"

"You're pregnant," Ginny pointed out. "With Ron's child, I might add."

"It happens, though. It happens more often than a lot of women realize. It was in one of the books I've been reading. You know that some pregnant women develop insatiable cravings for food? Well, sometimes their husbands develop insatiable cravings for other women."

"Hermione," said Ginny, "you read too much."

"I know," said Hermione, and she looked so crestfallen that Ginny hugged her.

"Listen," Ginny said, "you've nothing to worry about with Ron. And much as I hate to whinge and run, I really need to get back. Albus just woke up, and I left Harry with only a few ounces of milk."

"How do you know he woke up?" Hermione asked.

Ginny indicated the front of her jumper, upon which two wet spots had just appeared. "My milk lets down whenever he starts crying to be fed, even when we're miles apart. Weird, isn't it? Same thing happened with James while I was nursing him."

"Seriously?" Hermione looked impressed. "Is it some sort of spell?"

"Oh no, it's not magic. Mum says it happens to Muggle mums, too. Something to do with the mother-child bond, I think."

The two woman walked back to the hospital together, parting inside as Hermione went to her prenatal appointment and Ginny made her way back to the NICU. She could hear Albus crying even before she entered. In the first few weeks he had barely managed a faint peep. Now he could indulge in a full throated wail, and it was music to his mother's ears.

She opened the door to find Harry sitting in a rocking chair with Albus. His back was to her and he did not notice as she moved up quietly behind them.

"Yes, I know," he was saying. "It's not nearly as good as Mummy, is it? She'll be back soon to top you off, but in the meantime, won't you take just a little more milk from the bottle? No? Well, if you're sure, we'll have a little father-son chat while we wait, shall we?"

Ginny stood very still, smiling fondly. "We had a nice talk with your brother this morning," Harry went on. "You remember James, of course, we've told you all about him. Anyway, he can't quite say your name yet, but by the time you come home I'm sure he'll have it. You'll meet all your cousins soon, too. Have I ever told you about them? There's Victoire, and Romy and Remy – they're twins - and the four P's, as your Uncle George calls them: Prewett, Priscilla, Prescott, and. . . what's the latest one's name? Oh, right. Prudence. Then there's Fred, and in just a few short weeks you'll have a brand new cousin. Aunt Hermione is quite sure it's a girl, and they plan to call her Rose. And we can't forget Teddy. He's sort of an honorary cousin, but he spends a lot of time at our house and I'm sure you'll be great friends. Oh, and you'll be glad to know we finally got your nursery sorted out. It's green and blue, and there's lots of. . ."

"Stuffed animals," Ginny said, leaning over Harry's shoulder to address Albus, whose eyes shifted at the sound of her voice, "and cutouts on the walls that your Gran enchanted to skip, dance, and turn cartwheels. And Grandad found a lovely music box with stars and moons on it, and it plays some Muggle tune I don't know."

"I know it," said Harry. "It's a lullaby."

"Is it?" said Ginny. "Well, sing it for us then."

She was teasing, as he had no voice at all and hated to sing. But to her surprise, Harry cleared his throat and sang in a tuneless monotone:

Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee,

All through the night.

Guardian angels God will send thee,

All through the night.

Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,

Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,

I, my loving vigil keeping,

All through the night.

"Where did you learn that?" Ginny asked, as Albus's eyelids drooped, either in self-defense or because the song had put him to sleep, she couldn't tell which.

"I don't know," said Harry, looking rather surprised himself . "I'm sure Aunt Petunia never sang it to me, but it seems I must have always known it. Could be my mum, I suppose, but I was only a year old when she died. I couldn't remember that far back, could I?"

Ginny said nothing, but took the baby and sat in a rocking chair to nurse him. He took only a little more milk before falling asleep again, and she held him against her bare skin to rub his back, feeling the warm, sleepy little head flop on her shoulder. How curious that she could feel her child's need even when they were apart. Could he feel her too, and know how much she loved him, and could she keep him safe that way as Harry's mother had? There was no charm that could protect her children from danger, no spell to shield them from all that went bump in the night. But she could do what Lily had done, what Molly had done, and millions of others before them. She would love her children with every beat of her heart and, if necessary, defend them with her last breath.

"Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?" Harry said, smiling at the pretty picture they made.

"You might have," said Ginny, smiling back. "But feel free to tell me again, if you like."

A/N:There are two more chapters to go (I think!) which will include the birth of Rose and an Epilogue. A few points of clarification: NICU, for those of you who don't know, stands for Neonatal Intensive Care Unit; Abeona was a Roman goddesswho watched over children;Amicus Curiae means 'friend of the court,'and is a type of legal brief generally filed by someone who is not directly involved in a case; the poem Ginny recalls in this chapter ("April is the cruelest month") is The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot; and the writer Hermione quotes is Mark Twain. Also, it is quite true that a mother's milk "lets down" when her baby cries to be fed, even sometimes when they're miles apart. It happened to me when my son was a baby, and there's nothing magical about it unless, as Dumbledore might say, it has to do with the magic of love.

Notes to Anonymous Reviewers: Thanks to the following Anonymous Reviewersfor your thoughtful comments: Celestina, Clio, Jenn, Jessica, ChickenChild, Willa, RowlingonaRiver, Christina, noviwanwife, Imogen, joy, Sidney, Mrs.H, coolblue110, Allie, Theresajean, kar33m, Orphelia, Raging Tomato, and Jessica. Specific responses are included below.

Celestina: I don't believe we ever learned what Molly's Patronus was. Something rather domestic, I should think.

Jenn: Bless you as well! Thanks for your kind thoughts and good wishes.

Chicken Child: No, this is not quite the end. There are still two chapters left.

Willa: Yes, I will cover the birth of Rose in the next chapter. Haven't quite decided how I'm going to do that yet, but I'm sure it'll work itself out. And as you can see from this chapter, little Albus is already doing much better.

RowlingonaRiver: Yes, Rose's birth is up next. Love your penname, by the way. Very creative!

Christina: Most women have a very hard time maintaining normal conversation during labor, but Ginny is a witch and a very powerful one at that, so I reckon she can hold her own in almost any situation. Glad you enjoyed the Mother's Day present.

Imogen: Yes, the story is nearing the end, but there are two chapters left to go. Glad I'm converting you to the Harry/Ginny fandom. Rose's birth is coming up next.

Joy: I wanted Albus's birth to be special, and I'm glad you thought it was.

Sidney: Sorry, all good things must come to an end, but there are still a couple of chapters left before I wrap it up completely. I'm so glad you're enjoying it.

Coolblue110: Thanks for the raves!

Allie: Some of Jo's post-DH revelations don't make a lot of sense to me, so in the world of fanfics we can do it our way. I try to keep my stories as close as possible to canon, but I do draw the line at some pairings. But then, that's why it's called fiction, right?

Theresajean: Yes, I did know that Hemingway committed suicide. I don't care for his stories as a rule, but that quote has always been a favorite of mine.

Kar33m: Ron devotees are a tetchy bunch. I do have a lot of respect for Ron (more than his creator, in some instances) and I think I show him as a man of great loyalty, courage, and common sense in my stories. If you read my first fanfic, The Letter, you'll see that even more than you do here. In this story, he comes across as a bit more of a comic character, but let me assure you that I love and respect Ron, and would never portray him as an idiot.

Ophelia: Another Harry/Ginny convert! Halleluiah! I agree that Jo seemed to have difficulty writing romance. But that's why God created fanfics, right?

Raging Tomato: First, welcome to FFN! Second, I'm glad you caught Percy's little statistical analysis. I thought that was pretty typical of him, too.

Jessica: No, this is not the end. There are still two more chapters which I will hopefully get written and posted in fairly short order.