Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
A/N: My other fics are not on hold and I will try to update them regularly.
On her wedding day, Rosamie Gautho had not planned on being pregnant.
In an idyllic, perfect world, Rosamie Gautho would get married at her father's small rustic inn in Brittany, looking slim and slender and resplendent in a pretty ivory baro't saya, and a veil that Inay would have stitched covering her long curling locks. Flowers from her Inay's garden would have been in the bouquet that she would be holding—peonies, calla lilies and baby's breath.
In an idyllic, perfect world, Rosamie Gautho would not only not be six months pregnant, but she would be celebrating with her sisters, her Inay and Papa and Grandmère and Lolo and of course, her fiancé's family. Perhaps they would forgo all traditions, and just have an enormous party, drinking wine and laughing and making toasts to a happy future.
In truth, in an idyllic perfect world, Rosamie Gautho would not be getting married until she was thirty-two. Not too old to be impatient for a partner and not too young to be unsure about one. She would have finished her master's degree in Dentistry. She would be opening a clinic of her own, perhaps with a friend from Uni or a colleague from the Dentistry clinic internship she worked for in her master's. She would have the support of her friends, her family, and she would be confident, unafraid and utterly sure of her decisions.
But it was not a perfect, idyllic world, and Rosamie Gautho was not thirty-two, she was twenty-three, and she was six months pregnant and not tentatively trying to conceive with the love of her life. She was not getting married in France, with her father and her Inay, nor with her Lolo or Grandmère.
No, Rosamie Gautho was standing in the Kensington and Chelsea register office on a chilly February morning, her rounding stomach protruding quite obviously from the waistband of her bellbottom jeans, and a flannel shirt hanging loosely around her shoulders. She was not anything she hoped she would be in this situation, not anything she had dreamed of, even fleetingly.
Rosamie was nervous. Far more nervous than she thought she would have been if she'd gotten married in Brittany with her Papa and Inay and Grandmère and Lolo. Her heart was racing, and she was sure that she looked scared because her face was tight and her brows drew together in a way that made the lady behind the desk glance at her oddly, and then eye her carefully for the entirety of half an hour.
"Rosie, darling, we don't have to do this if you don't want to."
Rosamie finally looked over to her boyfriend, into his worried brown eyes and bit her lip. She took a calming breath, and she felt him squeeze her hand, just a little bit clammy from holding it so long.
"Don't be silly Makkah…I want to…I'm just—"
"Scared." Her boyfriend—and, she thought to herself fleetingly, wasn't it fiancé now? —nodded, never taking his eyes off her. Something like chagrin flickered in his face, a realization coming to his eyes.
"No," Rosamie said quickly, trying to calm herself by taking in another breath. She clutched his hand tighter. Intertwining their fingers even more. The ring he'd bought her, a simple gold band clinked against his own. "No, I'm not scared, I'm just nervous. I'm so nervous. I don't want to mess this up, Makkah. You and I…We've been dating for nearly five years and I love you, I know I do, but what if you change your mind? I just…don't want anything to change because we were stupid, and the condom broke that one time—"
Makkah smiled wryly at her, amusement dancing through his eyes.
"Love," he chuckled, squeezing her hand again in comfort, although this time it was less of a death grip and more of a gentle touch. "Love, you were on every single form of birth control available to man. This was…an unplanned milestone, but an entirely welcome one."
Rosamie flushed, staring down at her feet as a wayward curl fell into her face. "I know. I just…I don't know, chéri, I just…don't want our families to think I'm some girl you knocked up on a drunken night because you needed to let loose from studying so hard."
Makkah's mouth was suddenly tight, and his darks eyes went to steel. His face went through an alarming amount of emotion. "Just because I have not introduced you to my family yet, does not mean that they do not know of you. I speak of you often, mpenzi, and they know you as the woman who was gained my respect, my admiration and love. I did not know this weighed on you…if I did, then I would have introduced you to my family sooner."
Rosamie knew that the woman behind the counter was watching their interaction, but she couldn't quite bring herself to care as she felt the tears rise in her throat and clog her eyes. "Oh, mon amour…I love you so much…I'm sorry that I've been so nervous lately and hectic and frazzled. I was just scared because of the baby and because I haven't really told anyone of our situation except Jaslene and Chesa and they haven't been quite so receptive."
Makkah smiled at her softly, endearingly. He pulled her closer, hand loosening from hers to bring her into a warm hug. She buried her nose into his red sweater, enjoying the smell of paper and ink and laundry detergent. He was warm and safe, and he loved her.
"I've also delayed telling my Mama and Baba. I have told my brother, Mosi, and my sister Shani and they haven't said anything against my decision. Shani even wishes to meet you as soon as possible. Mosi, though, wants no part until we decide to tell our parents. He says it mustn't be a secret if we do not want it to fester."
Rosamie chuckled a little bitterly into her boyfriend's chest. "Yes. I agree."
The woman behind the counter coughed a little, and they separated, both flushing a little at the awkwardness of her piercing gaze.
The form was simple, and Rosamie signed with trembling hands and a shaking heart. It was all so new, so terribly dangerously uncertain and Rosamie hated being uncertain. But when Makkah smiled at her, gripping her hand tightly, she thought of the child growing in her stomach and the way it fluttered and kicked underneath her hands. She thought of the way her boyfriend treated her as an equal, as a person of respect and deserving of admiration, and she knew that even if this all went to hell in a handbasket, that they would have each other through this child, if this marriage did not last.
It was in May that they told their families and they did it a little like this:
Rosamie's water broke, and in a panic, she called her Inay and her Papá ordering them to come to The Royal London Hospital as soon as they could manage. They had barely gotten a word in edgewise, stunned into silence and shock, before she let out a blood-curdling scream and the nurse ripped the telephone from her hands to help her get settled onto the hospital gurney. Makkah, riding on her wave of bravery and utter and complete terror, called his own parents and held her hand as he told them to come immediately.
It was as Rosamie bellowed into her second hour of labor that Makkah's parents Nalah and Henry arrived at the maternity ward in utter surprise, shock and hurt. Soon after, Mosi and Shani arrived, and Rosamie began to scream expletives that made the nurses who spoke French blush to their ears. Makkah held her hand as his mother peered into the room, curious and determined to see her previously unknown daughter-in-law, and Rosamie tried not to be snappish as they began to speak in quick, fervent Swahili, Makkah's face going from determined and supporting, to briefly ashamed, then repentant and regretful.
"Makkah, chéri—" Rosamie groaned, gripping his hand so tight that she thought she heard a creak. She was sweating and pretty certain that she looked a spectacle of disgusting, which was not the ideal way to meet her mother-in-law but right now, as the child pushed through her she could not bring herself to care very much. "I know we have to…ugh god…to talk about this with our parents but…oh putain, espèce de…I will murder you if you don't…ARGH…support me…RIGHT NOW—!"
Makkah immediately turned to her, and his murmurs, his reassurance and support were the only things she heard.
For nine hours and ten minutes, Rosamie screamed. She cried and groaned and pushed and sobbed. The pain was unbearable. There were times where she was sure that she would pass out from the pain of it all. There were also times when she was acutely aware of what was being done to her—having almost chosen an OB/GYN nursing track instead of dentistry after starting her master's—and she was terrified that it was being done incorrectly.
She was groaning with pain, and her hospital gown was soddened with her tears and sweat and blood when she felt the sudden urge to push.
"You've got this Rosamie," A nurse between her legs encouraged her, and Rosamie moaned, expletives and curses and pleas escaped her lips.
"You're almost there, mpendwa," Makkah murmured into her brow. He had sat down next to her, the nurses providing him with a stool when it was evident that he was not moving from his spot. He brushed the curls from her face and kissed her cheek and held her hand. "Just the last couple of pushes, mahabubu. Just the last steps until we get to meet our child."
It was with those words that Rosamie pushed, her mouth opening in a stretching scream, eyes closing with the sting of the tears that blurred her vision and the child slid from her womb.
Black and white stars were flashing in front of her eyes as her child was placed into her awaiting arms, and she had to blink, once, twice, to focus on the face of her baby.
When she did, Rosamie sucked in a small, gentle gasp. The love that wrapped itself around her heart, that made her feel so full she could barely breathe was so natural that she couldn't even manage to query the peculiarity of the feeling.
"Congratulations," the nurse beamed at them, but Rosamie could barely concentrate on what she was saying. It was like she was underwater; only she and her baby and Makkah existed, and nothing could interfere or separate them. "You have a wonderful baby girl."
Makkah's voice was hushed, miraculous. "A daughter."
His hand traced their daughter's small, snub nose, trailing his fingers over the ridge of her brows. Rosamie smiled, tears dripping down her cheeks in joy, as she took their baby in. Warm, brown, soft skin. Small, shallow breaths. A tiny, perfect rosebud mouth. Loose, dark brown curls sparse on her head. When she opened her newborn eyes, Rosamie sucked in a sharp breath of awe. Her daughter's eyes were a dark gray, and they were searching, vision not having developed enough to recognize anything but her parents.
"Oh," Rosamie's voice trembled with tears. "But she's perfect."
"What should we call her, love?" Makkah's voice was quiet, still utterly enthralled at the miracle that had occurred, and his eyes were drawn in by the fluttering of his newborn.
"Hermione." Rosamie whispered. "Hermione Jean Granger."
"That's perfect." Her husband whispered, and he traced his daughter's soft cheeks, his eyes suspiciously wet. "She's perfect."
Of course, not all perfect, wonderous moments lasted forever, but in that moment, Rosamie and Makkah Granger were so truly, deeply, utterly in love with the child that lay encircled in their arms, that they did not care about the things to come, the trouble or the yelling or the hurt or the resentment.
No, Hermione Jean was a miracle, and even though the days would be hard, their daughter made everything worth it.
…
Rosamie was staring at the strip of pink in utter and complete shock.
They had been careful, so very, very careful and yet…
Her Inay had been furious at her. Had refused to speak to her, even having met their little daughter, her granddaughter at the London Royal Hospital. No, Elouera Gautho had remained furious, and betrayed, and even though Rosamie had seen the flash of yearning and deep unadulterated love in her eyes at sighting her granddaughter, Rosamie knew that she had hurt her mother far more than she could imagine.
It was only when Jaslene and Chesa had convinced Elouera to come visit for Christmas that their Inay had tentatively forgiven Rosamie.
But now, with the pregnancy test shaking in her hand, she did not know what she should do. Inay had been very obvious at the joy of having a grandchild, and yet expressly clear when she'd fixed Rosamie with her dark brown eyes and told her that should she want to continue her career, she should wait before having another child. That once Rosamie had two children, it would be even harder to hand them off to a babysitter and depart for work in the mornings.
Rosamie raised her eyes to spy the other fourteen tests sitting idly on the edge of the bathtub. Something close to terror swirled in her stomach. She loved her daughter, Rosamie knew that; she loved Hermione more than anything in the entire world, more than she could even begin to express and yet…she put a shaking hand to her womb, not yet expanded.
She choked on a quiet sob.
It had only been a year since Hermione had been born, and it had been difficult, so difficult getting back into the game of dentistry, applying for jobs and even internships had been like climbing mount Everest in her only her underthings.
No one wanted a twenty-four-year-old dentistry graduate mother who was already married, intent on starting a career. Makkah had had more luck; he was just finishing his internship at a clinic on the outskirts of London, but it had taken him more than six months to find a one that would allow their small family to live somewhat comfortably, and he had graduated from Cambridge with the highest scores anyone had seen in a decade.
Rosamie had tried, of course, and yet she still had had no luck. They took one glance at the year between her graduation and the present, and it was like they knew.
She raised a shaking hand to smooth back her curls, trying her hardest to blink back the stinging tears.
Footsteps sounded outside the door and Rosamie sucked in a sharp breath.
"Rosie, darling…" She heard Makkah calling, and she couldn't stop the beating of her heart as it rose in her chest. The door of their small bathroom creaked open, and Rosamie could barely blink from the fear that curled around her heart and shook her to the core.
She felt his hands on her shoulders, shaking a little. "Malaika…what—are those what I think they are?"
Rosamie tilted her head slowly, and the terror gripped her heart strong.
She stared into her husband's eyes and saw the realization that filled them.
"I'm pregnant." She whispered.
And suddenly, everything was different.
Inay: mother in Filipino
Lolo: grandfather in Filipino
mpenzi: love/lover/boyfriend/girlfriend in Swahili
Baba: father in Swahili
mpendwa: beloved in Swahili
mahabubu: beloved in Swahili
chéri: darling in French
Malaika: angel in Swahili
I have always viewed and read Hermione as ethnically ambiguous. Please correct me if I have written any words wrong or written them into any wrong contexts - I do not speak Swahili or Filipino, only French and I don't want to be writing incorrect things into my work.
Enjoy,
Isedy.
[Edit: 8/2/19 - my thanks to Fushia Flame to correcting my mistakes! :)]