62. Victoire

"Wilma, have a look at this!"

The great hall was full of laughter and conversation, and bright morning light streamed through the windows over the four house tables. It was the third Friday of the school year, the seventeenth of September.

The post had just begun to arrive, owls swooping through the air, and Neville was showing me the front page of a copy of the Prophet a brown owl had delivered to him. I saw the moving photograph of Kingsley Shacklebolt, the headline ANTI-WEREWOLF LEGISLATION OVERTURNED, and my stomach flipped over as I took the paper and devoured the words.

Tears welled suddenly in my eyes and slipped down my face as I read. It was finally unlawful to refuse to employ a werewolf because of their condition. I knew that this change in legislation would not undo the thickly tangled knots of prejudice which existed in the wizarding community, and it would be difficult to prove whether a werewolf was denied a job because of that prejudice… But at least a step had been taken. At least it was written in law that werewolves were humans, not wicked and vile monsters.

I failed to control my tears, and settled for putting the paper in front of my face so the students couldn't see me shaking and sobbing with relief. The news was cathartic, but I also couldn't help my sorrow. I wondered whether, wherever he was, Remus had heard the news as well. I wished I could share the triumphant moment with him.

"I'm sorry," Neville said with alarm, my reaction clearly not being what he'd expected.

"I'm not upset," I assured him, showing him the smile that persisted despite the tears, and pressing my face into my serviette.

"What is wrong?" Favre asked.

I was at first unsure of whether I should hand him the paper. I didn't know what his views on werewolves were, and didn't know if I could bear it if he turned out to be disappointed by the news. But after a moment of deliberation I showed him the headline with pride. There was no longer any reason to be ashamed of my devotion to Remus, even if it was in the past.

Favre's eyes widened from surprise as he read. "That's a good thing," he said, when he'd finished. "I knew someone from school who was turned during the war, by Fenrir Greyback. He's had such a difficult time. I haven't heard from him in months."

Empathy filled me, along with hatred for the name of Greyback. Out of all those who had supported Voldemort and were now being watched over until the end of their days by Azkaban's dementors, I believed Greyback deserved it the most.

"You should write to him," I said to Favre. I wished that I could simply write to Remus, and see his own handwriting again. At this point, even a very distant acquaintance-like relationship with no contact would have been preferable to this complete and demoralising separation.

"You are right. I will," Favre said.

An owl swooped low over the staff table and dropped a letter for me. I recognised it as Bill's snowy owl as it flapped higher and soared silently out of sight.

Regaining my strength after the shock of the good news and sensing that there was somehow more light than before coming into the room, I opened the letter and read it. The handwriting was mum's.

Wilma,

Fleur gave birth very early this morning to a little girl she's named Victoire. I have been at Shell Cottage with her and Bill since last night, and now Harry and Ginny have come as well. Arthur will be joining us around lunch time with Teddy. You are very welcome to visit if you would like–she is a soft and sweet little baby!

I hope the students are treating you well.

With love,

Molly

An unnameable sensation filled my heart. I had always paid close attention to Fleur's pregnancy, as the announcement of it had come when I'd first been anxious about the requirement of having a baby with Remus. After my miscarriage I had been unable to keep from noticing her growing size each time I saw her with the rest of the family. My doing so hadn't been out of envy, but something else.

Part of me had wondered, since the miscarriage, whether I might not be able to have a child. I found the prospect of low fertility to be a relief, given the circumstances under which I'd been forced to try to become pregnant. My feelings lined up with Hermione's on many counts: I was too young, and was still focused on living my own life. But there was also a small part of me, fueled by my love of Teddy, that wondered if I might have enjoyed being a mother more than I presently believed.

Fleur had been pregnant for a long time, but the idea of a real child having been brought into existence by her patience and the natural course of time was one I could barely fathom. I knew at once that I wanted to visit Shell Cottage, and to meet the baby girl. I hoped that Fleur was very happy, and that I would be able to be happy for her.

Nine o'clock arrived, the food vanished from the tables, and students began to pick up their belongings, heading off to their first classes. I stood up too quickly and leaned on the back of my chair for a moment, lightheaded from the whirlwind of discoveries and emotions the morning had brought.

"Are you alright?"

It was Severus's voice, and I turned my head carefully to look at him.

"Lightheaded," I explained. "Fleur just had her baby."

He nodded wordlessly.

"I'll probably go to visit them this evening, but I'll return before dark."

"Very well."

There was a certain guardedness in his face, one of his stoic and unrevealing expressions which had become more rare over the months of our marriage, but still arose from time to time. And I always noticed them when they did. I wondered whether he had laid eyes on this morning's Prophet yet. But I thought better than to ask, and took my leave of him with a mild smile.

The sound of the surf was music to my ears as I apparated down the beach from Shell Cottage. The sand was long and tan-grey under the sky, in which clouds had amassed, covering the warm sun of the morning. It was just after seven o'clock, and the invisible sun would now be sinking towards the water. The surf was white and the ocean was a soft slate blue, stretching over the earth to the west. To my right the grass on the sand dunes rustled in the sea air, and the shell-shingled roof of the cottage was visible over their tops.

The cold evening wind tugged on my muggle clothes like a needy child as I walked over the dry sand up the beach. Gulls cried overhead, flapping their wings steadily despite the fast currents in the air.

The sound of the sea always made the house seem unoccupied from without. A peaceful silence so complete I wondered if I had drifted into a beautiful death.

Bill opened the door when I knocked.

Anyone walking into the house could have sensed that a baby had just been born. There was a softness in the air, as though it were making itself easier to breathe on purpose, for the benefit of the new arrival. Bill's footsteps were soft–both from a desire to preserve the quiet, and because, I could tell, he was walking on air.

Molly and Ginny were in the kitchen, and I could smell the mouthwatering promise of bread in the oven. The table was spread with the light dinner they had prepared, and the grey light from the sky filtered through the glass ceiling. I looked around at the shells embedded in the walls, the wooden beams.

I had memories of staying here once or twice before Aunt Margaret had passed away when I was thirteen. I had never known the witch very well, and she had not been quite so inviting of a muggle-born orphan as Molly and her younger brother had been. But my memories of summers at the cottage were still fond. Racing Ron and Ginny down the beach. Swimming for hours.

"Hi," Ginny greeted, her voice soft.

"I'm going up again," Bill said, and he walked quietly up the stairs, to where I gathered Fleur and the baby were.

Molly looked at me, her eyes deeply thoughtful for a passing second. "You're glowing," she said. Then she drew me into a warm motherly embrace. "Arthur had to take Teddy home, the poor dear was keeping the baby awake. Here, warm yourself up, your cheeks are cold. "

"Did you see the Prophet this morning?" Ginny asked, as I accepted a mug of tea.

"Yes." I kept my voice down. "Neville showed me. It's good news."

"We all have faith in Kingsley," Molly said.

"Where's Harry?" I asked.

Her face saddened, but only slightly. "He's up there on the dunes, with Dobby."

I looked through the window. I couldn't see over the sandy cliff, but could envision Harry sitting there, knelt by the grave of the loyal house elf who had been his friend.

There was silence as Molly wiped the kitchen with a clean white cloth.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" Ginny said quietly. Her eyes found mine, warm and clear. "Having a birth. It feels like there might be something normal again in the world. Just something normal."

There was a muffled crying sound from above, which soon quieted into soft coos. I heard Fleur's voice. I couldn't help looking towards the stairs, wondering.

Molly noticed the direction of my gaze. "Why don't you go upstairs and see her?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, dear. We've all been up and down."

I took the stairs slowly in my stocking feet, the wooden boards creaking as I went.

Bill saw me through the open doorway of the bedroom, and with a small movement of his hand invited me to enter. His face was softer than I had ever seen it; soft with exhaustion and wonder.

The room was barren of evidence of the birth. The towels were clean and white on top of the dresser, and the water basin gleamed. Muted white light shone in the single peaked window, and the long white curtains hung still like an angel's hair on either side. The mother and child sat in the centre of the white bed, surrounded by blankets and pillows. Fleur was softly singing a song in French as she nursed.

She looked up at me as I entered, her eyes smiling and content. "Come," she said. "Come and see."

I remembered Fleur knitting socks for her child months ago, certain that she would have a boy. I had no doubt that Bill felt a bit of pride at having been right about the baby being a girl. But Fleur did not seem to care that her prediction had been incorrect. She looked into little Victoire's face with unmatched adoration and happiness.

I walked over and stood by the bed, watching the infant girl touching her mother's skin with the smallest hand I had ever seen. Her soft head was nestled like an egg among the linen sheets, supported by Fleur's hand. Her little eyelids were closed, like soft pink shells. A child of the ocean.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Bill said.

I whispered, flooded with respect. "She is beautiful."

Fleur laughed quietly as Victoire murmured. "I had dreams all last week that I would give birth to a tiny black cat. But I would have loved her anyway."

Something stirred in my mind… black cat… but the thought was unclear and flighty, and I let it go.

The baby cooed and Fleur began to sing again. Bill's face warmed as he grew closer. I watched them together, a small family of three, and felt a sudden bone-deep sadness. I lingered for another moment. Then I turned silently, and was unnoticed as I left the room.

The smell of the bread was even more tempting when I returned downstairs. My body felt heavy with the strange sense of loss I'd felt watching Fleur nurse, but I did my best to press it down as I walked under the wooden-beamed door into the kitchen.

Ginny had her hand pressed to her abdomen, an annoyed grimace on her face. "Sit down, dear," Molly was saying. She was casting a heating charm on a dark blue sack of rice, which we had always used at home for menstrual cramps.

I felt myself pale. The warmth was leached out of my body, and a panicked dampness was cool on my palms.

Ginny and I had always gotten our cycles at the same time. Always. Numbly I watched her press the heating pad to her lower abdomen and sink with relief into a chair.

I was shocked at my own ignorance. I had been so focused on my workload that I hadn't realised I was late for my period. How many days? Four… Five…

I remembered how strangely faint I'd felt at breakfast, after standing up too quickly. I remembered the momentary look of recognition in Molly's eyes earlier. "You're glowing."

My body moved slowly to the table, where I sat down next to Ginny. The sound of the oven clicking with heat as the bread rose inside of it, and the distant rush of the sea, filled my ears. "Everything alright, dear?" Molly said.

Oh, Merlin.

Oh, Merlin.

Fuck.