In which a baby is born, and Hermione needs help with it.
Age twenty-six, St. Mungo's Hospital, London.
"Push, Hermione, you have to push!"
Hermione roared with pain. Sweat flew in salty drops as she flung her head back, face contorted, eyes screwed shut, mouth twisting as she pushed, Merlin, like she'd never pushed before in her life. Another squeezing agony ripped through her lower body. "Never! Never again!" she shrieked.
Ron, holding one of her hands, put his free hand on her forehead and tried to smooth her drenched, tangled hair away from her face. "No more kids? Really?"
"Never again without drugs! Or magic! Or ANYTHING!"
"Ah," he said, sounding worried amid all the other noise in the room. "Yes, I did wonder about that, do you really think it was the wisest—"
Hermione whipped her head forward and focused the most murderous glare she could muster at the man she called her husband. "NOT. THE BEST. TIME."
"Er, right," Ron swallowed. "It's alright, next time we'll have plenty of magic; say, can we have magic now? My mum said you could do that sometimes, excuse me—" he let go of her hand, turning down towards the Healer bent over her spread knees. "Sorry, do you think we could have the pain-dulling spell now?"
The woman didn't stop to look up at him. "Sorry sir, if we try anything now it'll be too dangerous for the baby. Come on now, dear, you have to push again, try counting to five, alright? With me now, one, two—"
"FIVE!" Hermione gasped, and collapsed back onto the bed. The pain, the agony, how did people manageit? How did the human race ever bloody survive? How could mothers decide to have multiples of this monstrous procedure? Another contracting, debilitating paroxysm ripped through her and she screamed. God, it had been eleven hours already, god, make it stop! Where was her mother to make all the pain go away? Damn it, in stupid Australia, on that trip they'd planned ages before they knew her due date, hoped they'd make it back in time but of course not, and now here she was in the ridiculous hospital bed in St. Mungo's with Jessica Gordon, the Healer who delivered Harry and Ginny's James last year, which was all very well and good but Ginny had had a natural birth too and you didn't hear her screaming bloody murder two floors away, no, little miss perfect-red-hair had an easy birth! The nurses were surprised at how easy it had been on her! Well wasn't that BLOODY WONDERFUL!
Another wail slipped out of her. She jerked her head forward and blew short puffs of air through her cheeks, squinting her eyes shut again as she pushed with all her might.
"Whew, that looked like a big one!"
Hermione slowly raised her head to glare some more daggers at her husband.
Ron bit his lip. "Are you alright? Do you need water? Mum says water's important to keep hydrated."
She couldn't lose focus to answer him. Push, had to push...
"Hermione?"
"One—two—three, four, FIVE." She relaxed again, as much as she could relax in the process of giving birth, letting her head hit the pillow. She concentrated on breathing. Deep breaths, in and out, like the nice Healer said.
"How are you feeling? Can I do anything? My mum says it's good if I can breathe with you or something—"
"Ron, just shut up for a minute, okay? I'm breathing."
"Right, right, er, really? Alright, well, er—"
"Shut up!"
"Sorry!"
"SHUT UP! ARGH!" she yelled as she hunched up to follow the next contraction. Damn it! Damn him! Damn everything! "I am never letting you touch me again, Ronald—Bilius—Weasley!" she shouted, pushing between each word. "No more children! No more codswalloped—flea-bitten—butt-biting—giant-headed—slug-brained—fiendish—bloody, bloody children! Oh my god it hurts!"
The Healer glanced up at Hermione from between her knees and gave her a critical eye. "It's alright, Hermione, you just need to keep pushing for me. Can you do that?"
"No, no no no," Hermione whispered, shaking her head, deflating as the air went out of her lungs. Her arms shook as she supported herself on her elbows. "No more. Aren't we done yet?"
"I'm afraid not. You can rest for a few moments, but then I need you to keep going, okay?"
Hermione felt tears mix with the sweat on her cheeks, panting. "No, I want it to be over, can't it be done?"
"How much longer do you think it's gonna be, Doc?" put in Ron. Hermione groaned, but he just grabbed her hand again and patted her head. "My mum's labours only lasted a few hours each, she told me—well?"
"It depends," she said, and looked at Hermione. "Are you ready to keep pushing?"
Hermione couldn't stop shaking her head. "No, I'm scared," she whispered. "It hurts too much. I want—I just want—"
"Water? D'you want some water? I can get some, if you like, here," Ron said, trying to be helpful, she was sure, but all he was doing was irritating her. She glared at him, fatigued beyond words. He bustled back from the sink, nearly bumping into one of the nurses and apologizing clumsily. "Here—it'll be good for you, don't want to get dehydrated y'know, my mum says—"
"RON!" Hermione shouted, finding her strength again in anger. He shut up. She struggled to sit up, the Healer protesting as she did. "I don't give a TINY RAT'S ASS about what your mum bloody says!" She lifted one shaking arm and pointed at the door. "You are not making me comfortable! You are not making this easier! SO UNTIL YOU CAN DO BOTH OF THOSE THINGS, GET OUT OF THIS ROOM!"
Ron blinked, and glanced at the Healer. She shrugged. He scurried out.
Hermione fell back onto the bed, weeping weakly from exhaustion. After a minute or so, the Healer cleared her throat, exchanging significant glances with the nurses; then she shifted her weight and bent down over Hermione's knees again. "Ready to go?" Above her, Hermione shook her head. How could she keep going? It hurt, Merlin, it hurt...this was impossible. She didn't want to push anymore. It wasn't the Healer's fault, she knew, but she couldn't go on. The woman sighed. "Another minute, then, but you have to start pushing again soon, dear."
Moments later, the door opened and Ron entered, followed by Harry.
"Hullo, Hermione," Ron said, cringing a little. "I just thought you might—"
"OUT!" she bellowed, unable to sit straight up or even point. Both men hurriedly turned around, but one of them stopped when an agonized cry tore from Hermione's throat. Harry looked back, pausing in the doorway, his face creased with concern. Hermione brought her hands up to her face and cried helplessly for a few seconds, then saw Harry murmur something to Ron, who shrugged. Her husband went back out into the hall, closing the door behind him, and Harry walked towards her, coming around the side of the bed to take one of her hands in both of his, green eyes kind.
"How you holding up, beautiful?"
Oh, she wept.
"Here, now," he murmured, brushing sweaty hair back from her forehead. "I know it's hard. It's the hardest thing."
"It's so hard," she mumbled, hiccupping.
"I know." Harry made her look at him. "You're the bravest person I know for doing this."
"G-Ginny did it," Hermione wailed. "Why is it worse? It's not fair!" She didn't even have the energy to pound her fists on the bed. She trembled all over.
Harry cupped her cheek in one warm hand. "You're doing so well, it puts her to shame," he said.
Hermione felt more tears spill over. "I just want it to be over! I want to be done!"
"You've got to keep going to be done, 'Mione," Harry said, and kissed her cheek. "You're brilliant. You can do this. You are doing this. Just think of the baby. How amazing is it going to feel when you get to hold her, eh?"
"I guess," she whimpered.
"Keep thinking about Baby Rosie. You want to see her, don't you?"
"Yeah," Hermione said, nodding, nervous.
"Me too," said Harry. "I can't wait to meet her. Do you think you can push again?"
Hermione shook her head quickly, eyes filling up again. "It hurts too much."
"I'll be right here with you. You can break my hand if you want. We're in a hospital, after all."
She hesitated, then looked down at the huge swell of her belly, and Jessica the Healer's sober face down beyond Hermione's knees at the foot of the birthing bed. Hermione gulped. The Healer nodded. Hermione adjusted her grip more firmly on Harry's hand and swallowed hard. "Okay," she whispered, and pushed.
Two hours later, Hermione looked down at her arms, at the tiny, silent bundle there, wrapped in pink, with her nose all scrunched up, a few wisps of reddish hair sticking out of the blankets, eyes wrinkled shut in sleep. Hermione couldn't tear her gaze away. Beautiful Baby Rosie.
She didn't look up when the door opened almost soundlessly. Ron, she expected. Nothing could make her look away from her baby, not after what she'd gone through to bring her into the world, no way. She traced her daughter's cheeks, fingertips ghosting along Rosie's skin so as not to wake her. Hermione felt the bed sink under someone else's weight as they sat down beside her.
"She's gorgeous," Harry said quietly.
Hermione nodded.
They sat in silence, and Harry slid his arm around Hermione, both of them gazing down at the sleeping infant, watching Hermione's fingers brush her tiny, chubby cheeks. She laid her head on his shoulder, not taking her eyes away. Briefly she wondered where her husband was, and, feeling Harry's warmth around her, remembered with a painful pang an afternoon nine months ago in November when she'd told Harry she was pregnant before she told anyone else. She told herself it was because he'd already helped one woman through childbirth that he'd been able to calm her so, help her through, but it was more than that, if she was being honest with herself. Perhaps it was at last time to be honest.
Harry's presence calmed her. He made her able to see more clearly, think better. It was easy, just being with him. Comfortable. Not overwhelming. She didn't have to worry about offending him with little things she'd say, didn't have to pretend to care about things she couldn't care less about just so as not to hurt his feelings, didn't have to be perfect all the time. It was just easy. He was escape from the tumult that the Weasleys could be. Hermione focused on breathing and tried not to think about the fact that he was here with her and Ron wasn't, but if she was being truly honest, it was more peaceful this way.
"Ron's just getting Molly from downstairs," Harry murmured. "Everyone else will be here soon. I thought you could use a heads-up."
He always knew. How did he always know what she needed? Gaze never leaving her baby, her head never moving from its resting place on Harry's shoulder, Hermione took a breath. She held it, then let it out slowly. A warm, late-summer breeze blew in through the open window. It stirred her hair. Time to be honest. She opened her mouth.
The door burst open.
The words died in her throat, unspoken, as the redheaded clan poured into the room, and for the millionth time in her life Hermione was swept up in a storm of congratulations and praise and a suffocating amount of smiling, well-meant hugs. She bit her lip as Ron took Baby Rosie from her; he lifted her carefully, as though she were made of glass, but Hermione's heart still lurched. He touched Rosie's nose. "She looks like a tomato!" he exclaimed, and everyone laughed. Hermione's shoulders fell, just a little.
She felt Harry give her a squeeze, still sitting on the bed with his arm around her. "I think she's perfect," he countered, and was met with a chorus of solid agreements.
Ron blustered. "Well, obviously," he said, and the Weasleys chuckled good-naturedly again. Hermione saw Rosie start to wiggle, ever so slightly, and involuntarily Hermione reached her arms out for her.
"I'll take her back, please," she said.
Ron didn't even glance at her. "Just a minute, just a minute," he said—and then the infant girl began to wail.
He gave Rosie back to Hermione and she snuggled the baby, cooing and rocking her gently back and forth. After a minute or so the girl began to calm down. Hermione smiled tiredly, for the first time in what seemed like ages. She looked up to see tears in all the women's eyes, Molly snuffling especially loud. Rosie made a baby sound. Hermione's heart felt full. She rested her head on Harry's shoulder again and saw Ron shift his weight uncomfortably. Harry noticed, too. He gently stood, making room for Ron on the bed, and her husband sat down in his place, hugging Hermione tightly. She just gazed down at Rosie. How could she ever say anything to mar the world of this beautiful, wonderful, perfect baby?
Perhaps the time for being honest was past.