Written for the First wotcherwerewolf Monthly Challenge: Bring on the Multi-Colored Werepups!
Beware of fluff!

"I'm what?" she shrieked.

She's looking at me as if I've just spoken to her in Gobbledygook. I run the words through my head again, wondering if I misspoke. No. I don't think I did. Let's try this again.

"I've run all the standard tests and the results are the same. You're approximately six weeks pregnant, Miss." No room for misunderstanding there. Just the facts, ma'am. "You understand what I'm telling you?"

"I'm not daft, sir."

This time she snaps at me. I can see in her eyes that she doesn't quite believe me, can't believe me. Unfortunately, in this office, it's a look with which I'm all too familiar. Well, actually, I'm not very well-acquainted with this particular look: her hair just went pure white and her eyes are like silver. She had blue hair and green eyes when we started our conversation.

"You're a Metamorphmagus, I see. That presents its own set of challenges in this situation." I turn from her and rummage through my overstuffed bookcase for several moments. I find the pamphlets right away, but want to give her some time to compose herself. "I'd like to schedule a follow-up appointment for next week. In the meantime, please look at this information. I'll be able to answer many of your questions during your next visit."

She reaches out to take the pamphlets, folds them carefully into her lap without looking at them. The disbelief has settled in around her eyes. It will most likely still be there when she returns next week.

"The receptionist will pencil you in for the earliest possible time. Please let her know what will be most convenient for you. Do you have- That is, you'll want to share those pamphlets with... Do you have someone who can accompany you next week?" Delicate phrasing is crucial in this job. Unfortunately, even after nearly three decades of practice, I'm sure I've not mastered the skill.

She nods. It looks as if her head is moving independently of her brain. She gets up to leave without saying another word.

-

The lunch crowd has finally died down and I have a few moments to catch my breath. I hate working during the week. If Patty hadn't sprained her ankle yesterday during her smoke break, I'd be sitting at home enjoying the peace and quiet. Instead, I'm running back and forth trying to keep up with all the hungry office-workers who descend on our café every afternoon at half-twelve. My feet feel like they're bleeding inside my sturdy shoes.

There's only one table left in the place with a customer. It's a young woman with white-blonde hair. She's been nursing the same glass of orange juice since she arrived twenty minutes ago. I've checked on her three times already, but she says she's waiting for someone. Well, he's obviously not here yet, so I have time to nip into the kitchen and charm a cheese sandwich out of Bernie.

When I come back to the dining room to check on her, there's a man sitting with her. Not much to look at, but to each her own, eh? They look deep in conversation, so I'll keep my distance for now.

I will never understand how people make such a mess out of a salad and soup. Napkins were invented for a reason!

"You're what?"

His voice startles me so badly I nearly drop the plates I'm carrying. I look at their table to make sure I won't have to call Bernie in to kick the man out. The girl is shredding a paper napkin into her lap and the man is just staring at her, mouth agape.

"It's not like I planned this, Remus." Remus? What the hell kind of name is that? "It's as much a shock to me as it is to you."

Oh. Oh! So that's the deal then, eh? I remember saying something similar to Gerry almost twenty years ago. Come to think of it, he looks a little like Gerry did then – surprised and shocked and dismayed and pleased all at the same time.

I feel like I'm intruding on their privacy, even from all the way across the café. I can't not watch, though. This story is good enough for a free round of sherries on our next Girl's Night Out.

She's not looking at him. He reaches over and places one hand over hers, stilling her fingers and bringing her eyes up to his.

"I won't ask how this happened." She smiles at this and I do too. "Have you been to the hospital?"

She nods. He folds one of her hands in his. It looks ... right.

Her voice cracks a little when she replies. "I've made an appointment for next Tuesday. Will you go with me?"

"To the ends of the earth, Dora."

And that's my cue to go bother Bernie a bit.

-

I've been working this desk for six months now. I don't think I'll ever get used to it. People rushing in and out in various states of distress, Healers barking orders, owls flapping overhead, the fire flashing green and red and yellow. It's maddening.

I like Thursday nights though. Nice and quiet. Oh, we might see the occasional injury or accidental magic victim, but it's mostly a time to get caught up on the neverending flood of admissions scrolls and discharge orders. It's midwinter, which is usually our slowest time. There haven't been any patients in the last half-hour and my fingers are aching from using this splintery quill.

I'm rummaging around in the desk drawer, looking for another quill, when they walk in. That's pretty unusual. Most people are in such a panic, they Floo right in in whatever state of dress (or undress) they happen to find themselves. They're moving slowly too. You don't see much of that around here.

I can't see her, but I can hear her voice. She doesn't sound panicky, but there's definitely a thread of tension in her voice. He's walking backward toward me, all his attention focussed on her. When he helps her into a chair, I can see why they're here.

I pick up one of the lemon-yellow Birthing admission forms and Summon one of the indoor owls from its perch.

This is definitely their first. He's hovering over her, nervously patting her hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She waves in my direction and he turns toward me almost automatically. Luckily, I'm used to seeing looks of pure panic or I'd probably be laughing right now. New dads are all the same, never mind that witches have been giving birth for millennia.

He's just standing in front of the desk now. It looks as if he's completely forgotten where he is. I'll go easy on him. He looks like a nice man.

"Name, sir?"

"Remus Lupin."

I struggle not to laugh at him, but his companion obviously feels no shame in doing so. "I think she means my name, Remus!" She winces as she says this, her hand flying to her swollen belly.

"Oh! Right! Nymphadora Ton- Lupin!Nymphadora Lupin! We're having a baby," he adds, quite unnecessarily.

I write her name in on the top line and the rest of the form fills itself out. Obviously, someone was thinking ahead. Most of the new parents I've admitted are in such a dither they completely forget to pre-register. I fasten the form to the little owl's leg and send it upstairs.

"Mrs Lupin? Would you like me to call an attendant to take you up?"

She's rubbing her belly now, large circles around and around. "No, I think I can walk. He might need some help, though." She smiles and her whole face lights up.

"We've just gotten married!" he blurts out. She laughs again and looks at me as if to apologize for him. There's no need, of course. It's very sweet, how he's completely lost himself tonight. Assuming, of course, that he's not normally like this.

"Congratulations, sir. Perhaps you'd like to take your wife upstairs now?" He jumps like someone just jabbed him in the buttocks with a broomstick and scurries over to her side. They slowly move toward the elevator. She's carrying the bag as he's got his hands full with her.

Just before the lift closes them in, she calls out, "Some of our family will be arriving soon. Will you send them up?"

As if I wouldn't. "Of course, ma'am. And congratulations. On both counts."

She smiles again. Or maybe still. She reaches for his hand and turns her face toward him. He looks back at her and their faces melt into expressions of such love and hope and softness that I feel a sharp tug around my heart.

I really do love Thursday nights.