REVISED as of May 2017

Chapter 36: Son

I don't think I've been so bloody tired since the war.

Who knew a baby who can't even walk yet could wear out two full-grown adults?

So far in the week that I've taken off work to spend with Leo, I've been pooped on, peed on, spat up on, drooled on, bitten (though that was unintentional on Leo's part, to be fair — I was looking at his bottom tooth and, well, my finger got in the way), awakened by screams in the middle of the night, splashed with bathwater, and had food thrown at me. I've stepped on a wooden block and nearly twisted my ankle. I've fallen asleep sitting up. I've paced in slow motion around the house for what seems like hours at a time, index finger clutched tight in Leo's hands, stooping sideways, as he tries out his walking legs. I've crawled on my hands and knees to "escape" him as he's chased me, laughing and gurgling, around the lounge. I've tried, rather unsuccessfully, to keep Boris from licking him — in fact, I've pretty much given up on that — and more than once I've had to jump up and move the cat food when Leo has spotted it and decided to give it a taste.

In short, I'm having the time of my life.

Right now, Hermione and I are both sprawled out on the floor in the lounge in front of the hearth, her head resting on my stomach, my legs propped up on the ottoman, with Leo crawling around us and climbing on top of us. It's the only way we could think of to keep him entertained while allowing us both to be relatively motionless. In an hour or so, it'll be his bedtime. Until then, my only goal is to keep my eyes open — well, and keep the kid from crawling into the fireplace.

Thank Merlin for Dobby. If not for him, we'd have starved this past week. Neither Hermione nor I have much spare energy for cooking or going to the market in Ottery St. Catchpole right now. Along the way, I've discovered that the homemade baby food that Dobby whips up is actually quite tasty. When Leo turned up his nose at the pureed peas, I polished them off with gusto. Dobby's even handled the catering for tomorrow's adoption party, bless him, Apparating over every morning from Hogwarts, where he prefers to bunk with the other house elves. Thanks to Dobby, all Hermione and I have to do for the ceremony is wake up, put on something clean, and be sure we don't have baby food in our hair.

"I'll have to contact Dobby before we go to bed tonight and let him know that we'll have one more guest for dinner," Hermione says as she runs her eyes over her planning notes one more time before Vanishing them to her office upstairs. "Charlie Owled today to say he's bringing a date."

"Oh, you don't say," I reply. "Well I'll be dipped in dragon dung. Any idea who?"

"Nope, it's a total mystery," she says, rolling onto her side with her head still propped on my tummy. She reaches out to capture Leo in her arm as he crawls by and then swings him up onto my chest. "I don't envy her, whoever she is," Hermione continues, patting Leo's diapered bum. "She'll face an incredible amount of scrutiny what with all the family being here, won't she."

"Hmm," I mumble as Leo grabs my nose and makes the gurgly sound that's his version of a laugh.

I haven't told Hermione that I've been interfering in Charlie's love life — didn't want to say too much, too soon — but I have. Charlie hasn't said whether my interference has paid off, but I reckon I'll find out tomorrow.

To free my nose from his grip, I wrap my hands around Leo's waist and lift him over my head, arms extended, so he's dangling facedown a few feet above me, drooling happily onto my shirt.

Hermione chuckles, and I peel my eyes away from Leo for a moment to look at her. She's biting her lip and smiling in a way that's unfamiliar to me. She's pleased, but it's more than that, I think. She looks … what is it? Content. She looks content. Yeah, that's it.

It's a weird moment because I realize that, in all the years I've known Hermione, I've never seen this look. Contentment. And then I realize that, blimey, I might be content, too, come to think of it … really content with my life for the first time ever. I thought I was doing well enough before — I mean, living with Hermione has been everything I could have wanted it to be and more. But this … this is different.

As she lays against my tummy, I feel a little quiver run through Hermione, and her smile shifts, her brow crinkling slightly.

There's a long pause and we're simply looking at each other, me still holding Leo aloft.

"Do you feel it?" she whispers, barely audible.

I study her face, watching the previous version of her smile return, and then I feel it warming my own face, my lips curving upward, my cheeks reddening.

"Yeah, I think I do," I whisper back.

"It's … it's … I'm not really sure what the word is for it," she says. "I keep trying to think of it and then it slips away from me."

I shrug, jostling Leo slightly and drawing another gurgling chuckle from him.

Then I say, "I think you're happy."

Hermione's eyebrows rise, and she whispers, "Oh," like I just reminded her where she left her wand or something.

And then, slowly and gradually, it starts. Giggling. Hermione starts giggling. And it's infectious, because within seconds, I'm giggling, too. I lower Leo down to sit to my chest as Hermione sits up and crisscrosses her legs, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

"I had no idea," she says, still snickering.

"Yeah, holy shit," I add, unable to control the belly laughs. "We're happy."

We have no idea why we're laughing, really, and neither does Leo, but he doesn't seem to care. He wiggles his legs, nearly kicking me in the chin, and laughs along.

The next afternoon, Ginny is the first to Floo over to help get ready for the ceremony. She can't seem to get enough of Leo.

"Dad just Apparated up to Cambridge to bring your parents down to The Burrow," she says to Hermione as she picks Leo up, rather unnecessarily, from his high-chair, where he's been eating lunch — or, rather, where he's been rubbing bananas onto his cheeks. "Oof! Oh my goodness, young man," Ginny says as she hoists the baby onto her hip, "I do believe you've put on a few pounds since I saw you last, and that was only two days ago."

"Mmm," says Hermione over her teacup. "It's incredible how much this boy eats. He's happy to tuck into anything we put in front of him. Peaches, applesauce, potatoes, beef stew … he's going to be a big boy."

I'm watching the two of them fuss over Leo from my perch at the kitchen table, but as delighted as I am to see Leo devour everything in sight, my heart still pangs a bit at the thought. He was such a mess when Padma, Thayer and I first recovered him at that farmhouse in Wales — and so clearly hungry. I wonder if I'll ever be able to shake the memory of how miserable he was. How his own parents could treat him the way they did … I'll never understand it.

On the first day Leo was with us here at Vine Cottage, he was so withdrawn, almost shy. Like he wanted to be hugged, he was desperate to be cuddled, but he couldn't be sure how it was going to go if he let us in. Hermione noticed — and then, when she pointed it out, I noticed it, too — that he warmed up to me quicker. Her theory was that he recognized me because of my flaming red hair, and that I'd already proved myself to be trustworthy. I reckon that made some sense. And maybe I made him feel safe, since he was in my arms from the moment Padma handed him over at the arrest until we dropped him off with Sister Miriam. In fact, Leo fairly well clung to me with both fists the entire time that night, scanning my face almost constantly and occasionally looking deep into my eyes. He barely made a peep while we were together for all those hours the night of the arrest — which was remarkable considering how loudly he was wailing when my team and I stormed the house. Did he know I wouldn't hurt him? Obviously he didn't, but somewhere in that little head of his, I think he decided he could take a chance on me, at least for that little while. I'm going to damned well make sure he never regrets it.

It wasn't until bedtime that first night with us that Leo really let down his guard with Hermione — and she reckons it was merely because he was dead knackered and craved a woman's comforting touch. She may have been right, because after we bathed him and dressed him in a fresh pair of footie pyjamas, she wrapped him in a big, fuzzy blanket, sat with him in the rocking chair next to his cot and, for the first time all day, he curled up in her arms, grabbed her nose, and drifted off to sleep as she hummed a soft tune into his curls.

Since then, he's slowly come out of his shell, to the point where he's now willing to cry if he needs something, if he's upset, if he's tired or hungry or whatever. After spending as much time as I have these past few years with Victoire — and now, her new little brother Louis — we had expected more crying, so it was a little weird that Leo was so quiet the first few days. The occasional tears and fussing, when they finally came a few days later, were almost reassuring, because they meant he felt safe enough to act like a regular baby without worrying that one of us was going to fly off the handle.

It's hard to believe we've had him for two weeks. Sometimes it feels like he's been with us forever — like it's the most natural thing in the world — and other times, it still surprises me that he's here, that he's ours. Or, that he's about to be ours. His mother signed over custody right away but, surprisingly, it took Rowle a little bit longer to do so — who knows why. Sister Miriam thinks it may have just been spite, wanting to punish us somehow for his predicament. But who cares? After the ceremony today, Leo will be our son, 100 percent. Rowle? Well, he made his choices — the wrong ones — a long time ago.

"Are you ready?" Sister Miriam asks me quietly, catching me red-handed as I sneak a piece of Dobby's treacle tart in the kitchen as the party outside rolls on.

Wiping the crumbs from my lips, I swallow quickly and mutter, "Erm, yeah … yes, I am, Sister. Sorry. Is everyone here?"

She smiles and joins me in the doorway, and we survey the scene in the back garden

Amazingly, the late May weather is cooperating with us, and every guest we invited was able to come. Aside from immediate family, there's what we've come to think of as extended family — Neville and Luna (who cut short their Nargle-hunting vacation in Norway by two days for the occasion), Hagrid, McGonagall, Keith Hale (minus his girlfriend, who apparently dumped him recently, surprisingly enough), Padma, Kingsley, Chum, Brocklehurst and Shirley, and Anton Grendys and his wife Doris. Angie is showing off the gigantic engagement ring that George gave her at Valentine's Day — Padma and Luna are ooh-ing over it as she wiggles her fingers before them. Harry and Ginny are taking guff from Seamus for the fancy-pants look of their wedding invitations, which were just mailed this week. Teddy and Victoire are chasing each other around the rose bushes, and Bill and Fleur are proudly showing off Baby Louis.

Dobby is circulating appetizers throughout the crowd — even though Hermione specifically told him she considers him a guest today, not a servant. He just paused to offer a canapé to Azize Yilmaz, the dark-haired, blue-eyed Turkish Auror — and dragon enthusiast — who helped me and Harry on our stopover in Istanbul as we journeyed to Australia so long ago. From the look of things, I'd say I was right to predict that she and Charlie would hit it off — he can't keep his hands off her, despite Mum's occasional sharp looks. And to think that he actually had the nerve to complain to me when I used the excuse of planning the upcoming International Aurors Conference as a way to introduce the two of them, since she expressed an interest in a seminar on harnessing dragons for field work and Charlie had offered to lead it. Ginny tells me Charlie and Azize have been carrying on a hot-and-heavy long-distance romance for months ever since. I'll remind him later that he owes me one.

Audrey and Percy, meanwhile, are already seated, apparently thinking it's time to get this show on the road.

Evidently, Sister Miriam agrees, and she shuffles me out the kitchen door and toward the front of the rows of seats that we have set up in the shade of the big oak tree out back.

"Right then," says Sister Miriam crisply, clasping her hands together and facing the crowd. Leo wiggles and babbles in Hermione's arms as we stand behind Miriam. "Show of hands, please: How many here have witnessed a Benimseme ceremony before?"

After a moment, a wave of chuckles passes through the group as we all realize none of us have seen a wizarding adoption. Blimey. Not one of us.

"No worries," says Miriam. "That's quite all right. Since that's the case, it's probably best that I explain what I'm doing as I go, yes? Very good."

She clears her throat and proceeds in a slightly louder voice which, amusingly, also raises her already high, birdlike voice by a few notes. "The Benimseme is a fairly ancient charm," she squeaks. "It originated in Turkey — thus a variant of the Turkish word for 'adoption' being the incantation. It is a quite powerful and a memorable ceremony."

I steal a look at Hugh and Eleanor, and I can't help but chuckle inwardly at the slightly befuddled look on their faces. They're the only muggles here — the only muggles for miles, probably — and I wonder if sometimes they feel as if they've landed on a strange, outer planet when they're with us, even after all these years.

"You'll recognize some aspects of the wizarding wedding vows in this ceremony," Miriam continues, "as well as elements of the charms that bind godparents and godchildren together. But the Benimseme incantation goes a step farther than does the godparents spell, also known as the Berakah Goneus charm. Once we perform the Benimseme, this child will be bound to his new parents as abidingly and indisputably as he would be if he were born of them. Like the wedding ceremony, what we are doing today is creating a blood bond, one that will connect this child to every person here who shares his new parents' blood — and to those who are to come."

I think about how gobsmacked I was by the sensation when we did the Berakah Goneus spell with Victoire. And even though I've been thinking of little else but this moment for the past few weeks, the unfuckingbelievableness of what we're about to do hits me anew. Blimey, Hermione and I … who were a couple of 11-year-olds … well, it feels like it was yesterday sometimes … the two of us are going to be this little kid's parents. His parents. For some reason — I can't say why — I can't tear my eyes away from the little trainers that Hermione placed on Leo's feet today. They typically crack me up because they're, well, they're just so small and cute, and Leo's entire outfit today, right down to the tiny trousers and miniature jumper he's dressed in, has had a similar effect on me all day, making me giggle involuntarily and want to pick him up and squeeze him. But now, looking at his little shoe dangling there before me, I feel overcome with emotion, including not a small amount of fear. He's helpless. He needs a Dad. Am I good enough to be that for him? Who the hell do I think I am, anyway? Crap.

I tear my eyes away from Leo's tiny shoe, still wondering why it's fascinated me so, and somehow my gaze falls on my own Dad, sitting in the front row just beyond Miriam. I can tell he's been more or less staring at me, and when my eyes meet his, he just smiles and nods. I can't be certain, but it's almost like he's read my thoughts, and his expression seems to say, You can do this.

Then I look down at Leo, who is staring right up into Hermione's eyes as she rocks him gently in her arms, and I find it — the courage that slipped away from me for a moment. Hell yeah, I can do this. Just watch.

I flick my eyes back to Dad for a second and nod back. Don't worry, I've got this, I think, and he chuckles slightly and nods back, wrapping his arm around Mum, who is seated at his side. I decide that's a good idea, and curl my arm around Hermione's shoulder for good measure.

"As you know," Miriam adds, "Ronald and Hermione are bonded and therefore they share magical blood. As the Matrimonio Intersecare spell dictates, they have become blood of one another's blood, bone of one another's bone. The Benimseme spell requires a similar blood oath. I typically place the child under a mild Sleeping spell at this point in the proceedings. Not to worry — it wouldn't hurt him even if he were awake. I just would rather not startle the poor little fellow."

With that, Miriam extracts her wand from the pocket of her dark grey nun's habit and waves it briefly over Leo's head, and he drops off like a top. Hermione giggles softly and kisses his forehead.

"The mother's role in the ceremony is to hold the child as Hermione is doing. The father, meanwhile, performs the blood oath. Since the father and the mother in this case are already joined, the blood connection between Ronald and Leo will also bind Hermione — and, in fact, everyone here who shares their blood."

Hermione looks up to me, her eyes already swimming with tears. I get lost in their chocolatey depths for a moment, like I've done so many times before. It only lasts for a split-second, but it's definitely there — deep in her eyes, I see a flicker of her on the night we first took our bonding vows, standing before the hearth wrapped in an oversized white terrycloth dressing gown, her wobbly smile lighting my heart. Merlin's tufty toupee, I can hardly believe everything we've been through since then. And now … gods, we're doing this. We're really doing this. I'm not scared anymore. Just … amazed.

"Let's get started," I whisper to Hermione.

"OK," she whispers back, her smile broadening.

"All right then, Ronald," Miriam chirps, snapping us out of our private moment. "It's your turn."

That's a well-meaning jab at the pace of my chess-playing. You see, Miriam, it turns out, is quite the chess enthusiast, and since she's been spending so much time visiting the house, we've fallen into the habit of playing. Miriam, however, likes her chess speedy — and isn't above nudging me when she thinks I'm dragging arse. "It's your turn" has become an almost constant refrain.

I know what she's after, however — she's already walked us through the ceremony privately and it is indeed "my turn."

I give Hermione's shoulder another hug, grab Leo's trainer-clad toe and squeeze it, then step away and point my wand at the floor. I say the incantation, "Benimseme Inardesco," and, as I walk around Hermione and Leo, a low-lying line of flames forms at our feet, encircling us.

"Jolly good, jolly good, Ronald," Miriam says. Then she turns to the group. "Right. Now, friends, here is the next step: the declaration of intent. Spellwriters like Hermione know how very important that step is in any complex bit of magic. As you will see, the declaration is spoken by the father-to-be."

Miriam turns to me and places her wand about six inches above Leo's head, and I raise mine to meet hers.

Fortunately, I have scribbled notes to myself on the palm of my hand, though I've pretty much memorized what I need to say. I try to hold my wand steady as Hermione sniffles occasionally next to me.

Then I stand tall and decide I should say this bit as clearly and firmly as possible. "We, Ronald Bilius Weasley and Hermione Jean Weasley, claim this child, born 298 days ago to Thorfinn Rowle and Gwyneth Livingston, as our own child, blood of our blood, bone of our bone. We pledge to provide for him, to protect him, to shelter him, to care for him, to honor him as a reminder of the great gift and the great mystery of life."

"Wonderful," Miriam says, lowering her wand so she can face the group once again. "And now, the Benimseme Intersecare — the blood oath."

Miriam turns back to me and gives me a wink. I put my wand away since I reckon this part might be a little easier if I have both hands free. Miriam raises her wand and holds it over my head as I say, "Benimseme Intersecare" and then use Raw Magic to make a small incision in the tip of my left index finger. Then I take Leo's little hand and pause to look at it for a second. His fingers are so tiny. I remember hating to cut into Hermione's finger that first time back at Grimmauld Place, and yet, it had to be done. I take a deep breath, repeat the incantation, and make the tiniest slice possible in Leo's index finger. Then I place the little cut against mine, holding it firmly there.

Then, surprisingly, I'm totally calm, and I remember word-for-word the next incantation as Miriam taught it to me — despite the fact that it's rather long.

"I offer thee my blood. I offer thee my name. I offer thee my magic," I say, looking down at Leo's face, so relaxed in sleep. "Born Leo Rowle, you are now and forever shall be Leo Frederick Weasley. You are…"

I pause for a moment. It's probably such a short span of time that no one else notices it — I doubt even Hermione detected it — but I think about what I'm about to say and what it really means, and my throat tightens for half a second. I power through it and manage to croak out the next two words.

"…my son."

At that moment, a surge of warmth flows from the point where our fingers are connected, up through my arm, just as it did when Hermione and I took our bonding vows, and I look at Hermione and realize, judging by the amazed look on her face, that she's feeling it, too. I feel Leo's pulse where our fingertips meet, and with each beat, the warmth spreads further throughout my body.

With that, Miriam raises her wand skyward, says "Benimseme Maxima," and the cool, low-lying flames that had been burning around our feet slowly rise and form a red-colored, shimmering cylinder of light around the three of us. I'm still holding Leo's finger to mine, my eyes are still locked on Hermione's, and I don't quite know what's happening but I know that I'll never, ever again be the bloke I was before I stepped into this circle. I'm a Dad now. My heart pounds as the current-like swirl of energy that engulfed us during our bonding ceremony overtakes us again and then, quite gradually, it subsides as the red cylinder of light around us dissolves and disappears.

That's my cue to heal Leo's finger, then mine. I whistle for Boris, and he runs up from his spot next to Hagrid in the back row of seats and does the honors, as I taught him to yesterday. Hermione laughs and stoops to allow Boris to lick Leo's finger, then the dog steps over to lick mine, and his magical Argos tongue heals us both.

And then, Miriam turns back to the group.

"It is finished," she says quite simply, and the garden erupts in applause.

I pull a sobbing Hermione to me, Leo still slumbering in her arms.

"It's finished, eh?" she whispers in my ear with a smile in her voice. "I rather think it's only just beginning."

oooOOOooo

A/N — I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review!

Cheers,

Holly.