"Numbing the pain for a while will make it all the worse when you finally feel it." Dumbledore
When Angelina gave birth, it was at her baby shower.
The shower wasn't supposed to be that close to her actual due date, but it had been planned on the day of the battle. In the chaos of Justin and Ben and the Weasley parents, the party had been the last thing on anyone's mind. Two weeks later, when things began settling down, another one was planned.
The Burrow was the only place big enough to accommodate all the guests, with its expansive lawn and comfortable living room. But it was missing something, without the sounds of Mrs. Wealey in the kitchen, or Mr. Weasley tinkering out back, marveling over old radios and broken pumps.
Ron and Hermione tried their best, but the house still seemed empty, its many rooms, built as the Weasley family had expanded, were mostly empty, though Hannah and Perseus were staying with them until Hannah found herself a job.
The party was spectacular, though in that strange, forced way where people seemed to be trying too hard to be happy. Ginny and Angelina were the center of the party, and hands seemed to be permanently glued to their bellies as Cho and Luna and even Professor McGonagall tried to guess the sex of the babies.
Even Hagrid was there, a wheelchair-bound Dennis at his side. His skin was healing, slowly, and movement impeded the progress, so he was confined to bed as often as possible. Hagrid hovered anxiously by his side, casting him so many worried looks that Dennis rolled his eyes and swatted the half-giant away. "I'm fine, it looks worse than it is." Reluctantly, Hagrid moved away, and was roped into a serious conversation with Charlie and Ben.
"Wow, Dennis," Ron stared at the boy, unable to take in the discolored skin, the strange, luminescent harlessness of the boy, "You look…"
"Terrible, I know." The smile Dennis had worn just a second before was gone, replaced with a sort of grimace. "I just needed him to get away." Both were silent for a moment, then Dennis said, quietly, "he really is like my father. Our parents kind of ignored Colin and me, but Hagrid…he cares about what happens to me, you know?"
"Yeah." Ron suddenly felt a lump in his throat as he remembered, suddenly, that he didn't have any parents. There were whole hours he could go without remembering their death, but it was times like this that it hit him full force. "Yeah, I know."
Angelina's baby was born quickly and with much to-do. All the boys were hustled out of the house and forced into the back yard where they clamored about anxiously. George was the only one allowed in the house, with an exuberant Fred tucked under his arm.
Hermione and Madame Pomfrey were playing midwives. "You're fine, dearie." Madame Pomfrey assured Angelina. "The baby's ready to come out. Just push, and it'll be over soon."
Ginny was keeping an anxious George at bay. Still recovering from his Sectumsempra wounds and wavering dangerously on the spot from all the fuss, Ginny was careful not to excite him further. "Just wait a few moments, Georgie," she soothed, using an old nickname from their childhood. "She'll be done in just a minute."
Just as the words left her mouth a strangled baby's cry arched into the air. Outside, people stopped talking and began clapping. Money changed hands as bets on the time of birth were won and lost.
George rushed in to clasp his wife's hand just as a baby boy was placed on his chest. "What are you going to name him?" For once, Fred's voice was low, reverent, and utterly deferent to Angelina.
The black girl gazed down at the bundle in her arms, which was entirely George, down to pasty white skin and the trademark hair. She sighed at the beauty of it and gazed up at the people hovering over her. "His name is Fred." She said, quietly, noticing just then just how utterly tired she was.
It was one of the few times that George Weasley was utterly at a loss for words. He smiled broadly and glanced over at his twin, who was currently occupying a large portrait in the corner. Fred's face was a mixture of elation and bemusement and he pointed to his own chest, then at the baby. Unable to think of adequate words, George leaned over his wife and kissed her, muttering the words, "thank you," into her hair.
When Ginny gave birth, they were visiting Luna in Ireland, and she had just gotten off a broom.
Cho, officially resigned from Quidditch, had suggested a three-a-side game between herself, Harry, and Ginny and Seamus, Dean, and Luna. After much argument and evening out of the teams, they began playing.
It was reassuring for Harry to be around Seamus, who, though still pale, was entirely not dead. When Harry was able to get Dean for a few moments and asked after the boy's health, Dean's face grew dark and uncertain, "He was dead, Harry. He went to…I don't know, Heaven, beyond the veil, whatever it is. It messed with him." Dean glanced over at his best friend, who was laughing with his wife, "He's quieter now."
"I noticed." But he didn't know how to make it better. Give me the strength to accept things I cannot change. He couldn't change this, but damn if he didn't want to.
Though he had cautioned Ginny against the game, his heavily pregnant wife insisted on playing, and teased Harry that he couldn't take a little competition. It didn't matter, really, because they weren't two minutes into play when Ginny's water broke.
She gave birth in a muggle hospital, with Luna at her side and Harry pacing outside the room. In the brief moments of clarity between contractions, Ginny would look up at her friend and smile a small, painful smile. "Are you ever going to have babies, Luna?"
Luna shrugged, blue eyes dancing. "I have Dean and Seamus." She said, as if they were a substitute. "And I think I would make a very poor mother."
Ginny stared at her, holding her gaze for a long minute. "No, you wouldn't." She said, her voice wobbling as she thought of her own mother, who would have loved to see her only daughter give birth. Suddenly the tears in her eyes were not just from the hardships of labor.
"She'd be proud of you, Ginny." Luna said, her voice serious, and Ginny was left wondering why no one ever noticed how perceptive Luna was before she saw white, and heard the high cry of a baby.
A wet, squirming something was placed on her chest, but she couldn't look, not until Harry was in the room. They'd been guessing for nine months what the baby would look like. When she caught sight of Harry's broad grin, she knew. "Damn," she said wistfully, "does have that awful black hair?"
Harry smiled and nodded. "And green eyes." He said, before kissing her. "A miniature me, I'm afraid." His broad hand delicately touched the soft down on the baby's head, nearly covering the tiny skull. "What are we going to name him?"
Ginny cleared her throat. She had been thinking the entire pregnancy that she would give birth to a girl, and had been thinking Molly for her baby's name. She sat thoughtfully for a minute, absently letting the infant suck on her finger. "What about James Arthur?" She asked. "James Arthur Potter?"
When Harry looked at her, she lowered her eyes, sure that he could see right through her, to the hurt and grief she felt deep in her. Because she wasn't okay with her parents' death. Not even close. "Yeah," came the hoarse answer. "Yeah, that sounds perfect."
And when they smiled at each other, for a minute there, everything was perfect. For once.
When Hermione didn't give birth, she cried.
She had smiled at Angelina when she came into The Leaky Cauldron carrying a baby that looked nothing like her and everything like George, and had felt a pang of sorrow when Fred told her, quietly, that it was Angelina who picked out the name, because she knew that Fred would never be able to have kids himself. And every girl in Hogwarts had once had a crush on a Weasley twin…
Ginny was her best friend in the world. They told each other secrets and spent nights together without their husbands (on those nights, Harry and Ron inevitably went to the Leaky Cauldron and found other temporarily wife-less Weasleys). They had been brought together by the danger and thrill of their Hogwarts years, and Hermione often thought of Ginny as her sister, since she didn't really know what it felt like to have a sibling.
But when Ginny and Harry Apparated into the Burrow, a tiny James tucked in Ginny's arm, she'd felt such a pang of jealousy that for a moment she couldn't breathe. Why did Ginny, who was always prettier and more popular than she, deserve to have a baby? Why did the famous Harry Potter get a child before she did? But the moment passed quickly and she was able to take the baby into her arms and love it immediately.
Ron, sensing her mood, climbed into bed with her that night and threw a long, freckled arm over her shoulders. "If it means that much to you, 'Mione, we can always adopt." And Hermione had to kiss him, because she knew he was trying, even if he didn't understand a woman's need for a baby of her own.
So she cried alone, on a Sunday when Hannah and Perseus had gone to Justin's mother's house and Ron was at the Joke Shop. Ginny, perhaps sensing her mood, had asked her if she wouldn't mind baby-sitting Teddy that day, and she jumped on the opportunity.
It had been seven years since the Battle of Hogwarts, and Teddy was a quiet, introverted child. He was the only one of Hermione's nieces or nephews that she'd cajoled into loving the written word, and every time he was alone with her she'd read him a muggle book, a fairy tale, hoping he'd stay a child a while longer.
Teddy's soft grey eyes focused on Hermione and he climbed onto her lap, his body shrinking to fit. He was an amazing metamorphmagous, his skills perhaps rivaling or even surpassing those of his mother. "Why are you upset, Aunt Hermie?" Most of the children called her Aunt Hermie, or Aunt 'Mione, and Hermione knew that her full name was a mouthful. Still, every time she heard Hermie, she was fifteen again, and in the Forbidden Forest.
Hermie, where Hager? Where, where, where? Hermione didn't quite know where she was anymore, let alone anyone else. "Yeah, I'm upset, Teddy."
"Is it because of Fred and James?"
Hermione had to think about it for a second, because for her entire life Fred had been a charismatic, reckless teenager and James had been the name she would never bring up around Harry unless he said it first. But when she remembers, she nods, because it's true. "You're a very perceptive small child."
Teddy nods seriously, his hair changing color with every bob. "I get that a lot." He's quiet for a minute, and Hermione rocks him back and forth, resting her chin on the top of his head and hugging the small body to her and wishing that was enough, wishing that there wasn't this aching need for a child of her own.
"You Uncle Ron says we should adopt, Ted. What would you think about that?" Long ago, Teddy had become everyones' sound board. Perhaps it was his serious face, no matter what shape it looked like, or his ability to be quiet for longer than all the Weasleys combined. Hermione thought that it was because everyone used to talk to Lupin, and Teddy was as close to the Professor as they were going to get.
Teddy was quiet for a moment, then looked up at Hermione, his eyes a stormy grey. "Do you know why I didn't want to be adopted by Harry and Ginny?" He asked, his words sounding so mature, so tired that Hermione could only shake her head.
"It's because, no matter how much I know they love me, and loved my dad, in the end, I'm not really related to them. And James is." He said it simply, and Hermione knew that he wasn't disappointed with the outcome, just stating the facts.
He looked up into Hermione's face. "I think you could adopt, but inside you'll know that baby was never yours, and you'll always wish it was."
Go Teddy. I think he's my favorite character.
Yes, the chapter was long winded, but we love babies, so please review.