Thanks everyone for the amazing reviews last chapter. Hope you like this one as much! I'm going to have to have a bit of a break from writing this for a while, so don't expect any updates in the next few weeks. (Sorry!). There are 4 more chapters to go…

Best wishes for 2002 everyone! Especially to JKR, whose characters I borrow so shamelessly!

Enjoy!

A New Arrival

"What is Hope? A smiling rainbow

Children follow through the wet;

'Tis not here, still yonder, yonder:

Never urchin found it yet."

~ Thomas Carlyle: "Cui Bono"

*****

"The baby… I think the baby's coming."

Harry stared at her, completely frozen with shock. Had she really said what he'd just thought she'd said? Surely not. She must be wrong; she had to be. Their baby wasn't due for another six weeks. This couldn't happen. Not like this: not now. His breathing was ragged and he shook his head in disbelief.

Ginny whimpered again, her fingers tightening round his arm and gripping tightly as the pain began to build once more. Little panting gasps shuddered from her as she struggled with the hurt that consumed her. Her face was screwed up tightly against the pain, and as he wrapped his arm around her, he could feel the tenseness across the muscles in her back. Slowly it began to fade, and she looked up at him, trembling.

"Harry," she whispered unsteadily, clinging to him even more tightly. "I'm so scared. So scared…"

"You're going to be fine," he replied forcefully, his stomach twisting itself in knots of uncertainty at his own words. He hugged her closer and kissed her burning forehead, willing for it to be true. She had to be all right. She just had to be.

"But the baby?" she cried. "This shouldn't be happening yet. It's too early. What if…? What if…?"

"Gin!" he exclaimed, understanding suddenly what she meant. He felt a surge of fear run through him; would the baby survive being born so soon? The thought galvanised him into action, and he lifted Ginny's chin so that her dark eyes met his gaze. "I love you, and I'm right here with you. We'll see this through together. OK?"

She gulped a little and nodded, cuddling into him. He rubbed her back reassuringly, grateful for the brief respite before the wave of sheer pain built up once more, rising to an agonising crest and then fading to nothing as it had before.

"Ginny," he said urgently. "We've got to try and get up to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey will know what to do. Can you walk?"

"I think so," she shivered and nodded. "Let's try it before another contraction happens."

Harry leapt to his feet, and gently helped Ginny up, holding her securely in his arms, fearing she would fall. She smiled up at him.

"I'm OK," she said, with a quivering voice. "Come on. It's not too far, at least."

It was agonisingly slow work making their way along the sunlit corridors to the hospital wing. Ginny leaned heavily on him for support, and every few minutes they would pause, Ginny struggling to ensure that cries of torment did not escape as she was overwhelmed, bent almost double by the newest surge of pain. Harry's own scar ached badly, but he welcomed it, knowing that at least it was a little bit of suffering that she was spared. Finally they rounded the last corner, and Harry pushed open the hospital wing door with considerable relief.

The room was empty, beds neatly made up in a regimented row of pristinely starched white linen. At the sound of their footsteps moving down the ward, Madam Pomfrey hastened out of her office, eyes filling with alarm as she spotted who it was.

"What's happened?" she exclaimed.

"Think I'm in labour," Ginny gasped, grimacing with the effort, and tightening her vice-like grip on Harry.

"Right," Madam Pomfrey said practically. "So this is about six weeks early, isn't it?"

"Yes," Harry responded, glancing anxiously at Ginny who was whimpering quietly with pain.

"Nothing to worry about," Madam Pomfrey said gently to Ginny. "Try to relax, dear. Breathe your way through it. You'll be fine." She looked back at Harry. "We need the Charm of Illusion off first, and then we'll see what's going on."

A short while later, Harry found himself outside the hospital wing, frantically pacing up and down on the landing. He hadn't wanted to leave, but Madam Pomfrey had been adamant, especially once there was no doubt that their baby was indeed on the way. His scar throbbed savagely, and he closed his eyes for a moment, leaning his forehead against the cool wall. If they got through this in one piece, he made a mental note that they were never going to have any more children. No chance!

Racing footsteps made his eyes snap open, and he was relieved to see Ron and Hermione bounding up the stairs at top speed.

"Harry!" Hermione called as soon as she spotted him. "What on earth's going on? Snape went absolutely ballistic when you ran out of class like that."

"Is your scar really hurting?" Ron demanded apprehensively, dropping Harry's bag on the landing beside him. "Have you seen Dumbledore about it yet? He needs to know if You Know Who is up to something."

"No," Harry said quickly, looking from Ron to Hermione. "The scar wasn't hurting because of him. It was Ginny. The baby's coming."

"What?" Ron gasped, eyes widening. "Now?"

"But…" Hermione began, her brow furrowed with worried mental calculations.

"It's early," Harry said grimly, and began to shift restlessly once more. "Too early. Madam Pomfrey said it was probably all the stress." He felt a lump building up in his throat, and stared out of the window, fighting back the tears burning in his eyes. How could this be happening? After everything they'd been through…

He felt a gentle hand touch him and looked down in surprise. Hermione.

"Harry," she said gently. "It should be OK, you know. I've been reading about it with Ginny, and the baby's quite big at this stage."

"Thanks," he mumbled, shivering slightly. He gazed back out of the window and across the grounds, his mind fretting about events in the next room. Suddenly he slammed his hand down on the windowsill, and whirled round to face the others.

"I've got to tell your parents," he yelled at Ron, running a frantic hand through his hair. "Your mum…she'd want to know…"

"Could we get her here, somehow?" Hermione asked quickly. "Owling would be too slow, but there's that Portkey of Ginny's. Couldn't we use that?" There was a surprised silence from the two boys, amazed she was considering such serious rule breaking. She tutted impatiently beneath her breath. "Harry, this is an emergency. Besides, wouldn't you feel better knowing she was in there with Ginny? They're not going to let the rest of us in, and I dare say Ginny would appreciate having her mum here."

"Yeah, you're right," Harry nodded, looking around him for Ginny's school bag. He hissed in a sudden gasp of pain, clapping a hand to his scar and wincing. This was getting worse.

"I'll go," Ron said abruptly. "Look, I can't stand this. I need something to do. You'd better stay, just in case." He rooted through his sister's bag looking for the Portkey.

"It's in the other pocket," Harry said. "It's the blue poetry book."

"Got it," Ron identified it instantly and looked up. "Back soon, then? OK?"

Harry nodded, and Ron vanished into the ether.

The waiting was interminable. The pain, the worry swirled round and churned unpleasantly inside him. Thousands of 'What ifs' rang through his mind as he paced and sighed and paced some more. It felt like hours had passed when a flushed Ron and tearful Mrs Weasley finally materialised at the top of the stairs.

"Any news?" Mrs Weasley asked at once.

"Nothing," Harry said bleakly.

"Oh Harry, dear," she exclaimed, burying him in a warm hug and kissing him. "She'll be fine and so will the baby. You'll see. Ginny was early herself, you know."

"She was?" Harry stammered.

"Yes," his mother-in-law smiled. "She always was a bit on the impatient side, and it looks like you're about to have one just the same."

Harry nodded, incapable of speech.

"I'd better get in to her," Mrs Weasley said gently. "I'll pop back out when I can and let you know how things are going." She disappeared into the hospital wing, and they caught a faint cry of "Mum!" before the door snapped shut behind her.

Now all they could do was wait.

The hours passed by, the sunlight fading slowly as afternoon turned to evening, birds chirruping noisily outside. The pain had built to a crescendo, no longer subsiding, but agonising in its persistent intensity. Time dragged on. Restless waiting sank into despondency, and then fear made them restless once more. Hermione sat scrutinising the carpet, chewing on her thumb nail; Ron wandered endlessly around the confined space, jumping nervously at every noise; Harry could bear it no longer, and sank his head into his arms wishing he could somehow cease to exist, or to turn the clocks back so that Ginny didn't have to go thorough all this.

Mrs Weasley, true to her word, emerged from the hospital wing from time to time to reassure them. Harry lifted his head from his hands each time, the panic sweeping through him as he hoped for good news, yet each time she just smiled at him.

"What's happening?" he demanded anxiously.

"She's doing very well," Mrs Weasley said. Then she chuckled and added, "But you don't want to know what she thinks of you right now."

The howls of pain that escaped through the open door were more than enough for Harry to deal with. He didn't care what Ginny thought of him as long as this stopped. Soon.

The memory of Dumbledore first telling them about Truitinae Bonitas was clear in his mind. The words echoed mockingly: "Passed down from father to son…" All of this was happening, his wife and son placed in danger, simply because of Voldemort and his actions. They should have said no.

The pain built and built.

They waited.

Nothing.

At length the hospital wing door creaked slowly open, and Harry didn't dare look up. Hermione's hand rubbed soothingly across his shoulders, just as she had been doing for several hours now, crouched as they were on the floor, in the silence of the landing outside the hospital wing.

"Harry," Ron's voice sounded slightly strangled. His pacing feet had finally ground to a standstill. Summoning every ounce of courage he possessed, Harry lifted his head from his knees, shaking badly with sheer terror. The last few hours had been the most harrowing of his life.

"I think you should come through now, Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, smiling gently down at him. Harry nodded slightly, and wobbled unsteadily to his feet, still very uncertain of what he would find.

He moved towards the door into the hospital wing, his heart in his mouth, feeling almost sick with trepidation. He was vaguely aware of Ron following, but Hermione caught his arm, and pulled him back, preparing to wait a little longer. Sliding through into the room itself, he caught sight of Mrs Weasley heading swiftly across to Madam Pomfrey's office with bundles of cloth in her arms. The clinically white screens concealed a bed at the far end of the room and he knew without doubt that was where Ginny would be. His breath seemed to be coming from outside him, making him feel slightly light-headed and dizzy. His footsteps resonated through the room one by one as he walked the length of the ward, feeling as if it stretched before him to infinity. Each pace brought him closer, brought the reality into sharper focus. His trembling hand reached out and pulled the screen backwards slightly, and with a shuddering breath he peered round.

Ginny lay in the bed, her long red hair pushed back off her face, damp and straggling over her pillows. She looked very pale, and completely exhausted, yet her face lit up in a grin when she saw him.

"Harry," she breathed, reaching her hand towards him.

Words were not enough for the flood of emotions that swept through him. She was alive; she looked as if she was going to be all right. He buried her in an embrace, incapable of anything more; simply clinging tightly to the person who mattered most to him in the entire world, never wanting to let her go.

"Ginny," he whispered, kissing her gently. "I was so scared. So scared… I thought…"

"I'll be fine," she murmured, her eyes shining brightly up at him. "I'm a bit sore right now, to tell you the truth, and I don't feel as if I'll be able to sit down properly for at least a month, but Madam Pomfrey said that was quite an easy delivery."

"Easy?" Harry laughed shakily. "I felt most of that. If that was easy, I'd hate to be involved with a difficult labour."

A high-pitched quavering wail suddenly sounded across their conversation, making Harry catch his breath. He looked wildly around them, and saw a small bundle in the low cot beside her stirring slightly. He glanced back at Ginny, his breathing suddenly shallow, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. He was a father? She smiled at him, and squeezed his hand before reaching over and carefully lifting the baby towards her.

"Harry," she said softly, pulling back the blankets slightly to let him see. "I think you should meet your daughter."

"Daughter?" he gasped, stunned. "But… but… Oh wow!"

"Take her," Ginny smiled, as he stared at the tiny crumpled pink face before him.

"We did this?" he whispered incredulously, stretching out a trembling finger to touch his daughter's cheek, suddenly realising how large his hands were compared with her. He froze, centimetres from her, terrified that he would hurt her.

"We did," Ginny chuckled softly. "It's OK, Harry. Madam Pomfrey reckons she's a real little fighter. You're not going to hurt her." Ginny's dark brown eyes lifted tremulously to his, shining with emotion. "You're her dad."

Harry felt a surge of strange feelings rising within him, as Ginny gently eased their baby into his arms. This tiny person was his daughter, his own flesh and blood. He swallowed awkwardly, suddenly engulfed in the realisation that he had a family, a real family. Not one like the Dursleys, who had just about tolerated him because they had been lumbered with him, but a wife, who genuinely loved him, and this amazing human being cradled right here in his arms. He was acutely conscious of a lump thickening in his throat, as he watched his daughter, smiling at her vibrantly red hair, which fuzzed like a dandelion clock, sticking out rebelliously in all directions. Cautiously he touched her, marvelling at her tiny perfection, examining the miniscule fingers on the diminutive hand. Her fingers closed around his inquisitive forefinger and grasped it possessively, seeming somehow to entwine herself around his heart. His daughter. His… daughter. He looked up at Ginny, half-blinded by tears.

"She's perfect," he croaked, unable to bear it any longer. "Ginny…"

"Look," she whispered, leaning forward slightly and smiling. Harry followed her gaze, and saw the scrumpled face shift slightly, an eye levering its heavy lid open to view the world beyond. Harry caught his breath. The eye was a pool of distinctive green, calm and curious as she regarded her father. The swell of warmth in his chest increased, spilling over freely as he bent to kiss her.

The soft warmth of her cheek surprised him. He could never remember having felt anything quite so soft before. The tiny fragility of her stirred a fire in his chest. His daughter: his to love and protect. The love he felt blazed through him, inexplicable yet all consuming as he held her close.

"How does it feel?" a voice whispered by his ear. He turned to face Ginny, grinning widely through his unchecked tears. He shook his head, gulping slightly as he struggled to find the words.

"Amazing," he managed at last. "She's… Oh, Gin."

"Does it matter that she's a girl?" Ginny asked quietly, touching their daughter's cheek with a careful hand.

"No!" Harry exclaimed vehemently, brushing his eyes with the back of his hand and then resettling his glasses on his nose. He smiled down at the tiny bundle. "She's completely perfect as she is."

"I meant with the Trutinae Bonitas thing," Ginny chuckled, glancing sideways up at him. "I wouldn't change her for anything, and believe me, there's no way she's going back the way she came! But seriously Harry, Dumbledore said this was passed down from father to son, and she's obviously not."

"I have no idea," Harry said, grinning back at her, suddenly feeling as though he were walking on clouds with lightness of heart. "To be honest, right now, I actually don't care. I'll work out her birth chart tomorrow if you want." He caught Ginny's eye and laughed. "Properly," he added.

"Twenty-first of June," Ginny said thoughtfully, regarding their daughter curiously. "Midsummer. Might be quite an interesting birth chart regardless, you know."

"Could be," Harry agreed. "Anyway, there's one thing you've got to put your mind to, and that's what are we going to call her? We've spent all this time thinking mainly about boys' names."

"Yes," she smiled. "And somehow I don't think James, Bill or Colin are names that are going to suit her too well."

"She wouldn't love us for it," Harry admitted.

"We could still call her after your mum," Ginny suggested, stifling a yawn. "Red hair and green eyes and all. Lily's a really pretty name."

"Maybe," Harry said thoughtfully. He stared at the tiny girl sleeping securely in his arms. "Gin," he said suddenly, "you know, it sounds stupid after everything we've talked about, but I think I'd like a name not connected with the past or the awful things that have happened. I'd like something new for her. She's not part of the past; she's the future."

"OK," she said, nodding her head slowly. "But what?"

"Nothing nice in your poetry?" he teased. "What was the last one you read?"

"Nothing any use," she smiled apologetically. "It was a lovely one by William H. Davies. It's the sort of mood you're after but doesn't have a name in it. What was it again?" Her brow furrowed for a second, and then cleared as she quoted softly,

"'A rainbow and a cuckoo's song,

May never come together again.'

It's pretty much how I feel now. This is so amazing, so special, it really does feel like it could never happen again."

"Reminds me of our wedding," Harry smiled, leaning over carefully to kiss her. "You remember that rainbow sprite blessing our rings. But then, I never was very good at understanding poetry."

"Oh! Oh!" Ginny exclaimed suddenly, her eyes widening and a smile playing across her lips. She muttered something beneath her breath, pausing in thought, and muttering again. Her eyes sparkled brightly as she gazed first at her daughter and then at Harry. "I think I've got it," she exclaimed softly. "Harry, this is what the sprite sang:

'Rainbow moments shimmer softly

Glowing light a bow of colour

Gives life richness though air so lofty

Hope I give you, never dolour.'

You remember?"

"Sounds about right," Harry agreed. "What about it?"

"Think about it," she said, eyes alight with anticipation. "You want a name, something good for the future? The sprite's given us the answer right there."

"She has?" Harry asked, feeling completely confused.

"Hope I give you," Ginny chuckled. "I don't know about you, but I think it suits her."

"Hope?" Harry said thoughtfully, looking at his sleeping daughter. "Hope," he repeated, enjoying the feel of the word, the warmth and security of it.

"We all need something good to hang on to," Ginny explained, wincing slightly as she shifted back against her pillows. "That's true now more than ever. Our own little ray of Hope right there."

"I like it," Harry grinned, tilting his head sideways to look at their baby once again. He nodded his head. "Hope it is, then."

Hope stirred slightly in his arms, her face scrunching up against the world, tiny fingers flexing fractiously against the blanket.

"Here," Ginny reached her arms out, and Harry moved awkwardly, suddenly worried about hurting the baby again with his clumsy unfamiliarity. Gently she was eased back into her mother's arms.

"It's a lot easier handling Quidditch balls," Harry grinned, watching the two of them together, glowing warmth filling his insides.

"Oh I suspect it won't be long before you're having to chase her around like you do with the Snitch," Ginny teased. "You want to hear some of the stories about what we all got up to as toddlers. I dare say Mum will tell you when she comes back."

Her left hand patted Hope's back lightly and Harry was suddenly struck by something.

"Ginny!" he exclaimed. "There's something I've got to do."

"Oh?" she asked quizzically.

"Some things have been kept a secret for far too long," he smiled, lifting his wand and muttering a familiar incantation. Within a minute a glimmer of gold had flown in through the open window at the other end of the wing, and he caught it securely in his hand. She stared curiously at him, until he opened his palm to let her see the two wedding rings in his grasp. "Now, Mrs Potter," he said seriously, taking her ring between his fingers. "We don't need to hide any more. I love you, and I want everyone to know it. May I?"

She bit her lip and nodded, shifting Hope more securely into the crook of her right arm, so that she could give Harry her left hand. The ring slid back onto her finger, just like the day he had married her. That was where it belonged, and suddenly everything was right again, the way it should be. As his own ring slipped into place, Harry was filled with a feeling of wonder. He had a family in Ginny and Hope, and he made a vow then and there, that whatever he had to do, nothing was ever going to endanger them again.