When she told Poppy the next day that they had decided to have the baby, Poppy threw her arms around Minerva.
"Congratulations! I'm so happy for you."
"Thank you." Minerva beamed at her friend. They were sitting in Minerva's quarters enjoying tea.
"You'll need to decide where you want to have this baby," said Poppy, suddenly all business.
"I thought here, unless you think there's some reason not to." Minerva's brows drew together.
"No, it should be fine. You're healthy enough. I just wasn't sure if you'd want me to attend you."
"Of course I want you, who else would I have?"
"Well, I haven't delivered a baby since my time at Mungo's," Poppy admitted. "But I'm fully qualified, and I can do an obstetrics refresher with Jean-Baptiste before your time comes."
Poppy had been involved with a French Healer she had met during a conference on the Continent the past winter. The two had found they shared an interest in wizard chess and unconventional anti-jinx spells, among other pursuits. He was doing a research fellowship at St Mungo's, and they'd been seeing one another on weekends for several months.
"I think I'd feel better with you than with anyone else, especially a stranger," Minerva said.
"You say that now. Wait until I start scolding you about getting too fat."
Minerva laughed; Poppy was always after her to put on a stone.
"How did the chess game turn out?" Poppy asked, cocking her head at the chessboard that still sat on Minerva's table.
"Oh, well … we never got to it."
Poppy smirked.
"You lucky girl," she said.
~oOo~
As the days passed, Minerva found the fatigue of early pregnancy to be her biggest problem. She had always been an energetic person, given to late nights and early mornings, but she found she couldn't keep her eyes open much after nine anymore.
When she complained to Albus that she was getting behind with the journal article she'd hoped to complete over the summer holiday, he gave her a sympathetic smile.
"I imagine this is just the first sacrifice of many you're going to have to make for your child."
She pursed her lips at him. "Yes, well, I don't see you making any sacrifices as yet."
"Ah, my love, I am mourning the loss of your sunny demeanour and your firm backside," he said, giving the latter an affectionate swat.
"Albus Dumbledore, there is nothing wrong with my backside!" She craned her neck around to see if she had missed anything in the daily assessment of her figure that had become habit since she had found out about her pregnancy.
"Not yet, there isn't, but the tea leaves assure me it will soon fall like Icarus before the sun."
"If you have any intention of getting into my knickers tonight, you will leave off this line of conversation post-haste," Minerva warned, smiling despite herself.
"Actually, my intention was to get you into a warm bath, and then we'll see about your knickers."
"A bath?"
"Yes," he said, coming up behind her and massaging her shoulders with firm hands. "I thought a long soak with a glass of wine and a good book might do you a world of good."
The idea was very appealing. "That sounds lovely. But I'm not sure I could stomach the wine."
"Ginger root tea, then. Poppy tells me it's good for the queasy tummy."
She was touched at the idea of him consulting Poppy about her morning—or rather, all-day—sickness.
"Come, let's get you squared away, then I'll get the tea." Taking her by the hand, he led her to the bathroom. He started the taps and opened the cabinet above the sink. He selected a phial containing the lavender bath salts one or the other of the staff had given her the past Christmas and added them to the water. As she started to unbutton her blouse, he put up a hand to stop her.
"I'll take care of that." He proceeded to undress her while she watched him, a bemused look on her face. When she was naked and the tub was full, he helped her step into it. She settled into the water.
"I'll be right back with the tea," he said.
"Mmm," she sighed in answer.
He returned a few minutes later, steaming cup in hand, and put it on the side of the tub. As she sipped it, he undressed and slid into the bath behind her. She set the teacup on the ledge, leant back against him, and closed her eyes again. After a moment, a splash of warm water cascaded down her head and neck.
"What are you doing?" she asked, opening her eyes to see a pitcher floating in the air next to them.
"Washing your hair, my love."
"That's divine," she purred as he massaged shampoo into her scalp. When he finished, the pitcher magically filled with more warm water as he rinsed the soap from her hair. With a soft flannel, he soaped her body, starting with her neck, working his way down to her feet, being careful not to put any pressure on her tender breasts. He rinsed her with water from the enchanted pitcher, then Banished it. His hands rubbed slow circles over her belly. Moving lower, he slipped his fingers between her legs, touching her the way she liked. She moaned and pushed her hips up to meet his hands, signalling her approval of his methods. He kissed her ear and her neck, moving from one side to the other as he stroked her to climax.
When she could think clearly again, she reached up behind her and caressed his cheek. "Thank you, my darling. That was lovely." Feeling his erection straining against her back, she stirred to get up, saying, "Now, what can I do for you?"
He put a hand on her shoulder to still her. "Nothing at all, my angel. You've already done everything."
"But—"
"Shh," he said, shifting her forwards so he could climb out of the bath. "I'll be right back. Don't even think of moving."
He charmed himself dry, took his dressing gown from the hook, and went into the bedroom. When he returned a moment later, he was holding a slim volume in his hands. He conjured a padded stool and sat.
He read in his sonorous bass-baritone.
"Proserpine may pull her flowers,
Wet with dew or wet with tears,
Red with anger, pale with fears;
Is it any fault of ours,
If Pluto be an amorous king
And come home nightly, laden
Under his broad bat-wing
With a gentle earthly maiden?
Is it so, Wind, is it so?
All that I and you do know
Is that we saw fly and fix
'Mongst the flowers and reeds of Styx
Yesterday,
Where the Furies made their hay
For a bed of tiger cubs,
A great fly of Beelzebub's,
The bee of hearts, which mortals name
Cupid, Love, and Fie for shame."
He read to her for the next half hour, charming the bath water to stay hot, while she sipped her tea. When he was finished, he closed the book and Banished it. He helped her out of the tub and, instead of using a charm, wrapped her in a large towel, gently drying her. Then he lifted her in his arms, carried her into her bedroom, and laid her on the bed, which had already been turned down. Slipping off his dressing gown, he got in next to her and pulled the bedclothes up to cover them.
She thought he would make love to her then, but he just put his arms around her and held her, stroking her neck and back, until she fell into a deep sleep.
When she woke several hours later, it was dark, and he was gone. She was tempted to believe it had been a lovely dream, brought on by sheer exhaustion, until she saw the slim volume of poetry from which he had read to her sitting on her bedside table. She turned over and slept until morning.