Hallowed Birth
The room is murky and dark, the fire slowly dying in the grate, the midwife who serves with me has left it unattended, but the room is sweltering. Myrabella clings to the two bed posts, her knees spread apart, her stomach low over the edge of the bed. Her skin is damp and the top of her nightgown sticks to her neck and shoulders. A low moan passes her lips and her hands tighten around the bed posts.
"I can't do this…I can't…"
"Yes you can," I encourage, "You're nearly done."
She groans loudly and I see a bead of sweat trickle down the back of her neck. I turn back my focus to her legs, a new little life making his or her way out. Myrabella lets out a low cry and begins to whimper.
"I want my mother…" she says. I gently rub her back and soothe her.
"There, there. We're here, we're going to make sure everything goes well."
The midwife glances at me. Not even I can make such a bold promise. Children die. Mothers too. After the joy of birth, for many comes the grief of death. While witches and wizards have better fortune when it comes to birthing, a death can still easily happen. Myrabella is not safe yet.
I had kept her confined to her rooms. The students had departed home for the summer, but I would not risk anyone seeing her. While Myrabella had approached me and asked for help the first time we met, at Hogwarts she suddenly became withdrawn and quiet. Most days she read books, practiced sewing and on occasion I would take her down to the gardens. But if ever I offered my company during the day or at meal times, she would politely, though coldly, refuse. I wondered what had happened the girl who had broken down in tears and begged for help. I did not take offense, in all honesty, while I was courteous and respectful, I did not desire her friendship. Perhaps she felt the same. The only person I spoke to her about was Isaac.
"She must be mad." Isaac muttered, his warm hand clasped over mine. The cold wind blew over the hills and lake, as we took our walk. His brown curls blew back in the wind and once we reached the top of the pathway, he put his arm around my waist. The grey lake was calm, except when the wind sent rippling waves running over the smooth water. He gently nuzzled against my forehead. I frowned.
"Why do men always blame the woman?" I asked.
Isaac sighed, "I didn't mean it like that."
"No, but you and Godric did the same, you looked to her and blamed her for his actions. She's little more than a child, Salazar beguiled her and used her…Salazar…"
Isaac's arms enveloped me, "Shh, hush Helga."
"No, I will not hush."
Isaac looked skywards and grimaced, "I seemed cursed today. Forgive me, Helga. I did not mean to belittle your compassion towards her, and your blame of Salazar. You are right, the blame lies solely with Salazar, but then why Myrabella threw all thoughts of respectability and her virtue…"
My entire body feels cold and I pull away from Isaac's embrace, his expression swiftly changes in horror. He blushes and stammers, "Helga, I did not mean to smear your reputation…"
"Yet, you did." I say coolly, "You forget Myrabella's folly was also my own."
"Helga, you are a woman grown, you are not a child."
"But I abandoned my own virtue, am I still deserving of your respect?" I do not mean to be so angry, but with Salazar's joy in cold murder and wanton bloodshed, I am tired of men looking at Myrabella and blaming her for his actions, when she had so little to do with it. I suppose because I know how easy it would be for them to blame me also. We are blameless, yet believing a man who desired us and sometimes treated us with kindness, we are treated with scorn when we gave into our desires and for foolishly believing he could be saved.
"Helga, I am sorry." Isaac comes to my side and gently takes one of my hands in his. He raises it softly to his lips and kisses it. I can feel my heart relenting a little, and I curse my soft nature, I desire peace and friendship too much.
"I spoke without thinking, both you and Myrabella have no fault in this. She was innocent, as were you. I hope you still love me."
At this I can't help but smile and shake my head at him, "Of course I do, you dolt." I bury myself in his arms again and feel his taller frame relax against me. Isaac kisses my forehead and tenderly cups my cheek.
"Marriage still on then?"
I can't help but laugh at that and Isaac grins. If he had a tail, I feel sure it would be wagging. I take his hand firmly and pull him with me, as we run down the other side of the hill.
Tears roll down her cheeks and she continues to beg for her mother. I had previously sent three owls to her home, addressing both of the letters to her mother in person, begging her to come to Hogwarts and provide some comfort for her daughter. In the second one I even stated that it was not a matter of accepting their daughter back into their family or recognising their grandchild, though it pained me to write it. But I had hoped a reconciliation was possible. In the third I had told them Myrabella had gone into labour and if it was a long birth it was still reasonable for them to see her. All had been returned to me, read, but with no response. I would send a fourth, to let them know the sex of the child, the name and if Myrabella and the new child were well. I could not help but marvel at the pureblood families, whose pride ran so deep, they would refuse their own child and forget all loyalty to her.
"Good girl, easy, easy. Well done." The midwife crooned. She rubbed Myrabella's back, as Myrabella knelt down on the floor. "Now, Mistress, if you wouldn't mind holding up her nightgown, you'd be a marvellous help." The Midwife said to me. I nodded and picked up the linen nightgown, the midwife placed a towel between her arms in preparation for the little infant that would soon enter the world.
"Here you are, mistress." The Midwife handed me a mug of birthing ale, spicy and sweet. I took a gulp of the warm liquid, watching the Midwife fuss around the bed, pulling the blankets around Myrabella and ensuring she held the baby properly in her arms. My legs felt vaguely shaky and I took a breath as I lowered the cup, and walked towards the bed. Myrabella had seemed scared to death at the prospect of birthing and looking after a child before, but now she held him close, softly murmuring to him as he looked up at her. He had a dark whorl of hair on his head and, though he continued to scrunch his eyes closed and only occasionally opened them, I could see he had deep blue eyes. I felt a pang low in my gut, a still deep seated desire for that to be me and my child, for Salazar to come marching through the doors at any time, insisting on seeing his son and marvelling at his tiny hands and feet, the black hair on his head, the perfectness of his nose and mouth. Instead I smiled at Myrabella.
"He's beautiful. What shall you call him?"
"Cadmus, after my grandfather. He wouldn't have cast me out, if he was still alive. I know it."
"Cadmus Rosier…that is a charming name." I decided not to linger on my thought of giving any children I had a simple name.
"Nay. I am not a Rosier and neither is Cadmus, we will take my grandfather's last name too."
I saw the Midwife frown slightly, but I smiled warmly, "As you wish."
"She has called him Cadmus."
Isaac nearly snorted and I gave him a cool look.
"Sorry." He muttered, "It is an unusual name."
I smiled fondly at him and shook my head, "It seems most Slytherins have a taste for strange and unusual names."
Isaac nodded, "Aye, I've noted they're less keen on Biblical names or Anglo ones, they seem to prefer French, Latin or Greek."
For once instead of walking we had sought shelter in the kitchens, the wind was blowing a gale and it was too cold for strolling outside. I prayed the flurries of rain and howling wind was not tormenting Rowena or Godric.
I had served Isaac some of my ale, warmed by the fire, and honey cakes. I tried to stop myself thinking they were traditional fare served after a wedding, and hoped Isaac hadn't noticed my blunder. I wouldn't want him to think I was hinting we should hurry our ceremony or betrothal. But he had made no comment on it and instead stared thoughtfully at the fire in the grate.
"He is a healthy babe, the Midwife said he was a good weight."
Isaac nodded, but it did not look as though he had really heard me. I frowned, worried he was unwell or something had upset him, when he suddenly got to his feet and walked to the fireplace.
"Isaac?"
He pulled a low stool over and gestured for me to join him. I smiled.
"We will probably break the stool or else fall off it, whatever happens."
"Fine." He took the stool back, pulled off his cloak from where it had been drying and laid it along the rug, in front of the hearth. "Come." He said and once more reached out his hand for me. I walked across the kitchen and sat next to him on the woollen cloak, resting my head on his shoulder.
"You are a wonderful, delightful person." Isaac murmured softly against my forehead, gently kissing my temple with each word. "But you care far too much about other people."
"I do not…!" I exclaimed, jolting upright.
"Ah, no." He caught my cheek and pressed his thumb against my lips. "For once in your life, let me take care of you." On seeing my expression he continued, "I am not saying you can't look after yourself and you are so kind and good to other people, but I do feel you neglect yourself."
"I don't…" I tried to continue speaking, but he turned me around and gently rubbed my neck and shoulders. I had not been aware of feeling any pain or aches there, but suddenly I felt my muscles loosening and relaxing under his clever hands. I let out a half whimper of protest and pleasure, until a shiver ran down my spine as he gently kissed my neck and the sensitive earlobe. His arms wrapped around mine, holding me close and protectively.
"I loved you, almost as soon as I saw you…nay, when you started speaking, when you proved how intelligent and sweet you were. I thought, that's her…that's…" he grinned at me, as I turned my head.
"That's what?" I asked.
"Sheer loveliness, sheer perfection."
I blushed and looked down to my boots, "I am hardly perfect."
"It's a different kind of perfection."
I laughed and nuzzled closer in his arms, "And what perfection is that?"
"A perfection of both virtues and flaws."
I placed my hand at the back of his head, running my hand through his dark hair, "You should've been a poet, rather than an Inn keeper."
"More money in running Inns." He chuckled and gently rested his forehead against mine.
"Is that all you care about, money?"
"Absolutely not." His eyes gazed intensely into mine and I felt my breath catch, before I pulled his head down and kissed him. He was all mine and I loved him. I loved him. And for once I allowed myself to forget all our troubles and fears. Rowena had sent me an owl reassuring me they were making good progress, having been joined by other great witches and wizards, who were slowly encircling Salazar and his allies. I forgot about Alys and my children, they were all safe in my little village in Wales. I pushed all thoughts of Myrabella and her illegitimate child from my mind. I needed safety and I had found it in the arms of a man I loved so dearly, I never wanted to lose him.
A/N: Sorry for the delay of posting a new chapter. This month has been crazily busy, not only with the boyfriend coming down to stay, going to the Wicked Young Writers Award, parents coming down, part time work and preparing for Uni. The last one is mostly keeping me from writing, I'm currently reading all my module books and preparing some original ideas for scripts. Anyone fancy DID/MPD combined with the idea of past lives, witchcraft and a highly religious community? Sounds like the Crucible, I know, but I'm going to focus more on the mental illness side of things. Anyway, thank you so much for being lovely, patient readers. Hope you've had a great summer and raring to get back to school or whatever you're up to! xxx
