Ravenclaw, short, Pregnant with twins, WC: 1016
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My wife is pregnant with twins. With twins.
She's frozen on the polyester covered chair, one hand placed over her swollen belly, the other holding tight to Percy as he attempts to crawl over her knees and reaches for her earlobes. Gently, she holds our son closer, staring straight ahead. Percy mumbles and gurgles incoherently, wanting the adoring attention his mother usually gives. All I can do is smile at her, because I physically cannot stop myself.
"Healer, are you - Percy, stop it," Molly admonishes, interrupting herself. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," Healer Johnson replies, clasping his meaty hands together in spite of the chaos of the room. He smiles then and bids us goodbye, telling us to book an appointment at the desk for a check-up in a couple of weeks. Molly doesn't move. Not when I stand up, Charlie having pulled me from my seat. Not when Bill asks his mother a question. Not when Percy sneezes.
"Molly dear?" I ask, prompting some movement. Her eyes move to me, then her face breaks out into a glorious smile.
"Twins, Arthur. Twins!"
The street outside seems much cleaner and the world much friendlier. Well, as friendly as a world can be when dealing with the most powerful Dark Wizard threatening national take over. If I can still feel this exuberant and joyful with He Who Must Not Be Named roaming around, then I don't know what. With my wife hollering beside me, "No wonder I'm as big as a house!", there is surely nothing better in the world. Charlie holding my hand unembarrassedly, Bill walking confidently but watchfully ahead. I am led to ponder what these next two will be like. Will they still have the same bright, red hair? The polite disposition? The intelligent and determined look in their eyes?
Our next couple of days pass delightfully slowly, Bill's seventh birthday going off without a hitch, even with some of the family popping over for a very short while. Charlie's birthday and Christmas quickly approaching with the beginnings of December. Molly handles everything spectacularly. I work the long hours, providing as much as I can for my growing family, but desperately wanting to be at home with them all.
"Here, Molly let me," I say as she leans towards a crying Percy, my eyes catching Charlie outside playing with something caught in the grass. I try not to alert my wife, placing the baby into her arms and wandering casually out into the garden. Bill watches me from the doorway, curious. "What have you got there, son?"
"Bowtruckle," Charlie says simply, not looking up.
Known to be vicious if disturbed, usually inhabiting wand trees, the bowtruckle is naturally something to be avoided. Yet, here my four-year-old son is greeting it like an old friend. As he's seen this many times before. Maybe he has, but not to my knowledge. It's a revelation halfway between terrifying and astounding, but most definitely wonderful.
"Arrrhhhhhhhhhh!"
"Molly?" I shout, quickly picking up little Charlie and spinning back to the house, fear filling my heart. Charlie screams, Bill stares at me. Within seconds, my wand is out and I'm ready to fight off anyone who will dare to attack my family. "Bill! Now!" I usher my son inside with me, torn between picking him up as well.
"Artthuuuuuuuuuuuuuur!" Molly screams from the chair, clutching at her belly in terror. "I can't be in labour already!"
"Labour?" I ask, deflating. Not Death Eaters. "Just labour. Labour?" My mind clicks in gear. "Molly, you're only four months along. We have to get to St. Mungos!"
Without pause for argument, between the screaming Charlie, Molly's blabbering denials, Bill's stoic solemnity and Percy's confusion as he writhes in Molly's arms, we hasten to the car.
Later that day, Healer Johnson explains that there can be complications with twins. The womb is stretched more than normal, meaning it can be very painful. With such lively babies, there may also a higher proportion of kicks and aches and pains than usual. Molly takes it all in her stride. She holds onto Bill's hand, who is holding onto Charlie, while Percy is asleep for once.
Our months pass in a hectic fashion. Much more hectic than they have been before. Molly is at home with the kids all day, occasionally helped out by all-too-willing (and suffocating) family members. I stay out at work only as long as we can afford, coming home to the most wonderful chaos. My ridiculously heavily pregnant wife, four months, five months, six months along. We pass through Charlie's birthday, Christmas, and race through my own in early February. It feels as though we are in our own version of a race against time. Percy still cries during some nights, meaning I get hardly any sleep with making sure he is okay. Bill has started having nightmares. Charlie seems to be making friends with new beasts every day. The only things that don't seem to like him are gnomes. Then again, they don't like anything or anyone.
"Arthur, the twins are on their way," Molly says to me on the morning of April first, nineteen-seventy-eight.
"Funny dear," I murmur back, yawning widely.
She sits up suddenly, cracking her back in the process. "I'm not kidding."
"Is this another false alarm?"
"My waters just broke."
"They're a month early."
April the first, nineteen-seventy-eight. Arguably, one of the more stressful days in my life. Our twins, unexpected at first, but loved so much. Born within three hours, having had complications down the road. I wait in the reception by myself, the children back at home with my own mother. When Healer Johnson emerges from the room that was previously filled with screaming, I don't know how to feel. Relieved that there must be news, but terrified all the same.
"Your wife did wonderfully. Would you like to meet your two new sons?"
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Thanks for reading!
