You know how sometimes you just have those moments that are perfectly timed, even when it seems like they might not be? Yeah, me too. And now I might actually be in orbit somewhere over the moon.
Happy birthday, Victoire Apolline Weasley!
2 May 2000
It took Ginny several minutes to realize that the pounding racket she could hear was not, in fact, her own brain trying to escape from her skull. Actually, it was coming from somewhere beyond the safety and comfort of her own closed eyeballs, and she was not keen on opening them to explore its source. Then she heard a groan, five feet to her left. Hermione had apparently heard the banging, too, and was now waking up.
Ginny opened her eyes. She lay sprawled on an Oriental rug on the floor of the upstairs sitting room in Grimmauld Place. A few feet away, on her right, she could see Harry's legs sticking out from under a sofa, and Ron's arm under a coffee table. Hermione was right beside her, pressing her face hard into the carpet, as though she thought this might help the obviously splitting headache that she also had.
Several bottles of firewhisky and elf-made wine littered the floor space between them.
"We can never, ever do that—urp—ever again," Hermione moaned. "Never, never, never…I think I'm dying…"
Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang. The noise seemed to come from downstairs.
"Whuzzit?" Ron whined from under the coffee table. Harry gave a low groan.
Ginny squinted at her watch and gasped. "Oh, for—" She swore loudly and staggered to her feet, feeling ill. She grabbed up her cloak and shoes, yanking a hand through her hair.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.
"It's after five, my parents are going to kill me!" she said. "Oh, no—"
And she bolted from the sitting room, scrambling downstairs. The knocking—that was what it was, of course, and Ginny was willing to bet she knew exactly who was on the other side—was louder as she approached the front door and flung it open.
She hitched on a brilliant smile. "Hi, Daddy!"
"Where have you been?" he demanded. "Didn't you hear me knocking?"
"Yeah, um—you might not believe this, but—well, we all, um—" She swallowed, thinking quickly. "We fell asleep, and—and I just—you know, I was so tired form practice that—"
"Never mind that, Ginny, where's Ron?" Dad demanded. "We've got to get to St. Mungo's!"
"St. Mungo's?" Ginny repeated, her stomach dropping about ten feet. "Why?"
"Fleur's in labor!" he said, looking half-mad with delight. "Now come on, where's your brother?" And he pushed past her into the house. "Ron? Ron, come down here!"
Ginny led the way into the dimly-lit sitting room, where Ron, Hermione, and Harry were all partially awake, draped across various pieces of furniture. Harry's glasses were missing. Catching sight of the bottles scattered across the floor, Ginny stepped in front of her father. "Dad, I can explain—"
"Ron! Up you get, son, I know it's early," Dad said, striding over to the sofa and hoisting Ron up by his elbow. He seemed blissfully unaware of the fact that the room reeked of drink and that all four of them were still in their day clothes. "Harry, Hermione, want to come along?"
"Come where, Mr. Weasley?" Hermione asked feebly, without lifting her head from her hands.
"Fleur's having the baby, right now!" he said exuberantly. Harry winced at the noise.
Ginny bit her lip. "Dad, I don't think…"
"Come on, you lot!" said Dad, plainly overjoyed to find them all awake. "Off we go!"
"I have no idea where my glasses are," Harry said, rubbing his eyes as they sat on sofas in the waiting area of St. Mungo's Maternity Ward. "I can't see a thing."
"That might have a bit more to do with the fact that you drank Ron under a table last night," said Hermione in a hollow voice, holding one hand over her eyes. The sun was blinding, having just risen to blast through the waiting area windows. "Literally."
"I hate you, Harry," said Ron.
"Don't you all look gorgeous?"
Ginny opened one eye and looked up. "Bill!" she gasped, leaping up and throwing her arms around him. "Is it—?"
"Yeah, it's all over," he laughed. His face was lit with happiness. "Mum and Dad are in there now."
"Boy or girl?" Ron asked. He, too, had managed to get up, and now hugged Bill.
"A girl," he said in a great rush. "Her name's Victoire, she's really—well, I just—you'll have to see. Her name was going to be Apolline—I mean, that was what we'd decided, but that was when Fleur was going to have her next week, and we weren't really expecting her to arrive today, but—but we just—we thought of—of everything, and we wanted to—you know—"
"Congratulations, Bill," said Hermione, cutting him off with a hug. "I'm so happy for you."
He gave another little laugh. "Thanks. Oh, come here, you!" he said, reaching out and pulling Harry in for what had to be a very rough hug. Ginny snorted.
"Wait, Victoire," Ron said. "That's…"
"Victory," Hermione said quietly. "It means victory."
And, quite suddenly, in spite of the haziness of the early hour and her slight headache, Ginny felt a lump rise in her throat. She looked first at Harry, who seemed only just to have realized what the date was. He was looking out the window of the waiting room, staring at the fierce orange of the rising sun. It wasn't hard to tell where his mind was. Hermione gave a sudden sniffle and looked down at the floor, so Ginny looked to Ron, who met her eyes.
And simultaneously, they both moved to hug Bill, together. Ginny pressed her face into his shoulder, feeling her eyes fill with tears, and she gave a tiny sob, squeezing him tighter. She felt Ron's hand pat her back. After a very long time, they all pulled away. Ron's eyes looked a little more bloodshot than they had been before, and Ginny wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
"Well," Bill said gruffly, clearing his throat. "Fleur's family will be here any minute, but…d'you two want to be the first aunt and uncle she meets?"
Ginny and Ron both looked around; Hermione was crying unashamedly while Harry held an arm around her. It was hard to tell whether he was squinting because he couldn't see or because he, too, was feeling rather emotional.
"Go on," Hermione wailed. "We'll wait right here."
Ginny laughed. "Be right back," she promised. She took Ron's hand and followed Bill down the hall to a tiny little room. Mum and Dad stood on one side of Fleur's bed, gazing down at a squirming bundle of pink in Fleur's arms. She looked up and beamed at them both; there were tears in her eyes, too.
"Come 'ere," she said, nodding at them. "Come and meet 'er."
Slowly, Ginny approached the bed with Ron still holding her hand. They looked down at the baby. Victoire's enormous, silvery blue eyes blinked beneath pale blonde lashes as she gazed back at them. But before Ginny could do anything to dislodge the lump that was back in her throat, or say how beautiful she was, Ron extended a hand and gently stroked the baby's tiny fist with one finger.
"Hi, there, Vic."
And Ginny covered her mouth with her hand and began to cry, for every reason she could think of, as the sun streamed through Fleur's hospital room window onto the most beautiful baby that any of them had ever seen.
