TWENTY
Mayfair Centre for Magical Mothers and Children is, indeed, less like a hospital and more like a luxury hotel where healthcare happens to take place. Harry has spent more time in hospital than any 23 year old man should have, but he’s never seen anything quite like the place where they are now. At St. Mungo’s, everything is harshly lit and smells of disinfectant and is filled with bustle and noise; at Mayfair, the lighting is softer, soothing, the air smells of lavender essential oils, and the only sounds that are heard are dulcet, tranquil white noises seemingly filtered in through the walls.
Harry, Ginny, and Audrey land directly in what Audrey explains to them is a private room in the maternity ward. “This will be your room for labor and delivery. We’ll move you to a different room for recovery, but you don’t need to worry about that yet,” Audrey explains as she gestures to Ginny that she should sit and begins digging in some cabinets around the room. Ginny tensely perches herself on the edge of the hospital bed, her hand resting on her stomach as the door to the room flies open.
“Healer Larsson,” an entering witch in purple robes — mediwitch robes — greets Audrey. The woman’s messy bun — her wand stuck right through it — draws a sharp contrast to her alert eyes and kind expression. “What are you looking for?”
“I’d like to get a gown for my patient so we can begin to get her settled but there don’t seem to be any in this room,” Audrey explains in an obviously exasperated tone. The mediwitch holds out her hands, in which she appears to be holding exactly this. “Oh! Celeste, you are an angel. An absolute legend.”
“Of course, Healer Larsson,” Celeste the Mediwitch chirps as Audrey hands Ginny the gown.
“You can change into this, Ginny, and then we’ll begin setting up all the monitoring charms. This is Celeste — she’ll be your mediwitch and she’ll be with you this whole time. You’re her only patient,” Audrey tells her meaningfully.
Harry and Ginny share a confused glance. “And you’ll be here too, right?” Ginny asks nervously. If someone had told her in February that Audrey Larsson would be her labor security blanket, she wouldn’t have believed them; now, the idea of Audrey leaving for even a second makes her nerves feel even more frayed than they already were.
Audrey nods, face softening. “Of course! But in general, healers come and go a bit — we have to see other patients if needed, we have to keep your loved ones in the loop, and we have to coordinate care for the baby with the pediatrics team. Celeste will be here the entire time. She’ll make sure your potions are being administered on the right schedule, she’ll call me if I’m not here and you need me, and she’ll give me and Healer Harris a hand throughout labor and delivery.” Ginny’s face must be reflecting her displeasure with the situation, even as Harry’s only looks concerned and confused, so Audrey reassures her. “But I will be here every second I can be, Ginny, and Celeste is the best mediwitch on staff. Healer Harris and I selected her especially for you.”
Ginny is only a bit comforted by this. She nods mutely.
“Why don’t we get you into the gown?” Celeste asks cheerfully. “You can go change in the loo just over there.”
But Ginny just shakes her head. She doesn’t really see the point of being bashful now. Harry’s seen her naked more times than she can count, Audrey’s hand was inside of her less than thirty minutes ago, and Celeste is going to see a baby come out of her vagina soon. So she just begins to hastily disrobe in front of everyone. “No use in hiding it,” she jokes as she tosses aside her shirt and shuffles off her trousers. She assumes she’ll be more comfortable with her bra, so she leaves that on, but removes her underwear before pulling the gown over her head. Audrey and Celeste, for their part, make no effort to watch as she does this, but Harry watches silently, head cocked to the side as if deep in thought.
After instructing her to lay on the bed, Audrey and Celeste make quick work of setting up a variety of monitoring charms — one with Ginny’s vitals, one with Snitch’s, and another that will show a scan if Audrey taps it with her wand. Audrey performs an additional internal exam to check Ginny’s progress before leaving. “I want to keep a dose of the oxyprogressive potion nearby in case progress stalls. I gave her a dose of fetal development before we got here and she’s been on a weekly regimen of it for nearly four weeks, so I think I’ll send up one more dose to give her around 8 centimeters,” Audrey fills Celeste in quickly. She stands and removes her gloves, which Celeste vanishes for her this time. “Ginny, you still want pain potions?”
Ginny bites her lip. “Well, it’s certainly bearable now, but I assume this will get worse…”
Audrey nods sympathetically. “I’ll also send up a few vials of alvodolor to have on hand for when they’re needed,” she tells Celeste. Then, she turns to Ginny and Harry. “That potion alleviates pain from the waist down only. The muggles have a similar solution, but theirs makes you pretty much numb from the waist down. The potion, on the other hand, allows you to retain feeling in your legs. So you can still walk, still use the bathroom normally, and you will still feel a bit of pressure and discomfort. But it’s extremely effective, so you shouldn’t feel any pain. And then you’ll get hydration potions and we’ll keep blood replenishers on hand just in case —”
“Just in case of what?” Harry blurts. Ginny turns and glares at him, mostly because she would personally prefer not to know.
Audrey just shrugs. “Complications, but nothing I’m very worried about. I also personally give moms a dose immediately after delivery to boost recovery, so it’s better to have it up here before that. Celeste, confirm when the vials come up that the blood replenisher is tailored to Ginny’s blood type — she’s O positive.” Celeste’s quill scratches a few more times and then comes to a stop. “Ginny, I’m going to go owl your family, all right?
“I’ll send them a patronus,” Harry pipes in. After all, he told Molly he would and there’s very little he can do right now that feels useful. Ginny is doing the work of birthing Snitch, Audrey and Celeste are doing the work of caring for Ginny and Snitch, and all Harry can do is watch and try to handle things like questions and contacting family so that Ginny doesn’t have to. He looks around. “Er, what’s the best place for me to do that?” He doesn’t really fancy Celeste eavesdropping on his message to the Weasleys; kind as she seems, he just met the witch.
“I’ll show you to the waiting room,” Audrey offers. Harry is about to wince — a public waiting room isn’t a very good place for Harry Potter to send a message about his girlfriend’s care — but Audrey preempts him. “I’ve reserved a private one for your family just down the hall.”
He follows Audrey out of the room, his eyes wild and filled with every concern he has. “So…private waiting rooms?”
“Lots of high profile patients here,” Audrey shrugs. “And at least as long as I’ve been here — which, admittedly, is only about a year — you and Ginny are definitely the highest profile I’ve seen.” It’s only a few paces until they’re at the door of a waiting room, the door simply labeled Snitch. “In order to protect patient identities, we give each of them a codename. You already gave the baby one so…” She trails off, looking abashed, as if embarrassed she noticed or retained that information.
Harry, on the other hand, softens a bit. That one detail makes him feel increasingly more confident that Audrey has a vested interest in keeping Snitch and Ginny safe. “So I can tell the Weasleys to ask for the Snitch waiting room?” The room has lilac walls and plays the same tranquil music as the birthing room. There are cushy chairs about, and even a camp bed in the corner. There’s also a table with supplies for tea that seems well-stocked.
“There are silencing charms built into the wall as well,” Audrey explains. “I’ll give you some privacy to send the message, but I can meet them and give them a full update when they get here.”
Harry nods. “Brilliant, thanks.” He isn’t sure why he does it, but as Audrey turns to leave, he blurts: “Audrey!” The witch turns around to look at him questioningly. “Do I need to be worried? I get that you have to keep Ginny calm and tell her everything’s going to be all right because raising her blood pressure will only make it all worse. But I need you to be honest with me, because I’ve already lost so much in my life and I can’t lose Ginny and the baby too. I can’t.”
The expression that crosses Audrey’s face is odd, and he almost recognizes it as pity; then, suddenly, Audrey’s arms are around his neck, squeezing him comfortingly. “Oh my god, Harry. I’m so sorry — I should have realized you’d be freaking out. Of course you are! But I don’t make a habit of misleading my patients or their partners. If I thought Ginny and Baby Potter were in danger, I wouldn’t even be letting her labor or try a normal birth; the baby would already be here, because I would have delivered him operatively minutes after we got here. I swear on the oath I took to do no harm that I will be honest with both you and Ginny until we have a healthy baby at home with you, okay?”
Harry finds that, as skeptical as he always is toward authority, he trusts Audrey Larsson implicitly and takes her word as a bond. Wordlessly, he hugs her back until he feels calm enough to conjure a happy memory for a Patronus. Today, he uses the memory of feeling Snitch kick for the first time on Christmas and the stag — possibly the brightest he’s ever conjured — gallops off toward the Burrow.
…
Sometime around midnight, Celeste gives Ginny a pain potion and a hydration draught and instructs her to get some rest. “You’ll need your energy tomorrow, I should think,” the witch tells her kindly while fluffing up her pillows. By that point, things have been getting progressively more intense, and Ginny’s exhausted. The most useful Harry’s felt all night is when she asks him to get in bed with her to help her fall asleep.
Once she’s asleep, however, Celeste points to a narrow bed built into the wall on the far side of the room and advises that it’ll be easier for the healers to monitor Ginny and Snitch if he rested over there instead. Of course, Harry would never do anything to interfere with their care, so he obliges; as a result, he rests very little. Every so often, the feeling of utter exhaustion overwhelms him enough that he’ll drift toward sleep. Then, a monitor will buzz or Ginny will gasp softly in her sleep at the pressure of a contraction, and he’s wide awake again. Giving up on sleep, he moves past Ginny and the mediwitch attending to her and heads to the Snitch waiting room.
He knows that most of the Weasleys had been there around nine, when he last visited, but he’d told them to pace themselves. Ginny’s progress has been steady, but slow, and if everyone wanted to be alert enough to meet the baby tomorrow, he advised them to get some rest. Harry’s not sure who he will see when he enters the waiting room — probably just Mrs. Weasley, if he had to guess — so he’s surprised to see that there are two people left, neither of whom are Ginny’s mum. Instead, Ron is passed out on the camp bed, his mouth open and drool in the corner of his mouth, as Hermione sits on one of the chairs, reading a book as a pair of enchanted knitting needles in front of her works on a small blue cap.
“You stayed?” Harry asks in lieu of a greeting. He flops into one of the cushy waiting room armchairs, relieved to have someone to talk to and anything to occupy his mind aside from crushing worry and a profound sense of doom.
“Well, we’ve been with you through it all for nearly thirteen years,” Hermione quips at Harry, closing her book — a muggle novel, by the looks of it, The Kite Runner — and placing it on the chair beside her. “We weren’t going to leave you now .” A reluctant smile plays at Harry’s lips. “What are you doing here?”
“Ginny’s asleep,” Harry shrugs. “Reckon I should be, too, but I have to be in this bed on the side of the room and I don’t really sleep well in general, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to do it now.” He pauses, raking a hand through his perpetually untidy hair. “Every time, I think I might be able to doze off, a monitoring charm beeps. Why do they make noise when nothing is wrong?”
Hermione has answers to a great many questions, but she has nothing helpful to say to that. “So everything is fine then?”
“Audrey swears that if anything were wrong, she’d stop letting this progress naturally.” Harry wrinkles his long nose; he trusts Audrey, and he trusts Healer Harris who has concurred with this assessment, but he’s not going to feel like everything’s okay until Snitch is here and Ginny is safely recovering.
“Mmm.” Hermione nods in agreement. The less she says, the more Harry will talk, so she’s opting to let him come to it naturally.
“Whenever one of the healers comes in, we’re allowed to look at a scan of him.” Just as Hermione planned, this gets him talking. “They say he’s definitely on the small side, but that his lungs look fine. And he’s not in distress and he’s in position, so provided that doesn’t change, they’re going to let Ginny try, er…” He trails off. It’s one thing to know how babies enter the world, and another thing entirely to talk to the woman who is practically his sister about his girlfriend’s vagina while his girlfriend’s brother sleeps obliviously in the same room.
“Pushing?”
“Right, that,” Harry agrees. “But obviously if it does change, they’ll basically have to immediately operate.” He pauses, runs a hand through his hair again. “But then — Hermione, d’you know what today is?”
“Your son’s probable birthday?” Hermione guesses.
“Well, yes. But it’s someone else’s birthday too,” he explains, his hand never leaving his hair. “It took me a bit to realize it but March 27th is — or was, I guess — my dad’s birthday as well.” He looks over his shoulder to confirm Ron’s still asleep. “Which is a lot, really, because we’re planning to name the baby James.”
Though Hermione is logical, there are few explanations for that beyond accepting it as sort of a spiritual sign. “Do you think that’s a coincidence?” She ventures.
“I don’t,” Harry shakes his head, smiling slightly though his eyes seem watery and conflicted. “I’ve experienced too many of death’s mysteries to think it is. I think — I dunno, I think my dad is looking out for him. Reassuring us that his namesake is going to be okay. Is that just completely barmy?”
Now, it’s Hermione’s turn to shake her head. “Not at all. I think in some ways, it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
He moves to sit next to her and throws an arm around her, pulling her into a side hug. “It means everything to me that you and Ron are still here. You know that, right?”
She nods her head into his shoulder. “We wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else. I’m so proud of you, Harry.”
Harry squeezes her to him a bit more tightly. “I’m proud of me, too.”
…
Harry does eventually manage a couple of hours of restless sleep in the early hours of the morning before Audrey and Healer Harris return to the room, waking Ginny and him in the process. He opens his eyes and looks toward where Ginny rests in the center just in time to get a view of Healer Harris’ hand between Ginny’s legs.
“We’re getting closer,” she announces, removing her hand. “Six centimeters. Over halfway there.”
“We’re only at six?” Ginny croaks disbelievingly. To her, it feels like this has been going on for ages.
“Believe it or not, this is fast for a first birth,” Audrey wrinkles her nose apologetically before turning to Healer Harris. “I think we should give her a dose of oxyprogressive, though. Try to move this along.”
Healer Harris considers this. “Do you think that because the patient wants to be done, or is there a clinical indication for it?” If both women weren’t fully qualified healers, Harry might think Audrey was a trainee being quizzed; in auror training, this is referred to as getting juiced, when a fully qualified auror asks a trainee rapid questions to gauge the strength of their decisions.
“Well, it’s my clinical opinion that keeping patients motivated is indication enough,” Audrey explains confidently. “But my reason for this is that the baby is extremely stable at the moment, and I don’t want to potentially put him through the stress of a long labor which would ultimately end in operative removal.”
“Oxyprogressive can also put stress on the baby,” Healer Harris counters, and Harry nearly gapes as he goes to stand by Ginny. An auror would never juice another in front an outsider, lest anyone lose confidence in their work.
“That’s why I’m not giving her a full dose at once. Three drops at a time, administered by the mediwitch every 15 minutes until we’re making rapid progress. I expect that we’d be around 8 centimeters within the hour, at which point I am happy to discontinue oxyprogressive and let it progress naturally from there.”
Healer Harris appears to mull this over before nodding. “I’m aligned with your approach, Healer Larsson.”
Harry reaches over to interlace his fingers with Ginny’s. She squeezes hard — tightly enough that he knows the pain is increasing and the potion is wearing off. She takes in a sharp, strangled breath, and holds it gaspingly.
“Celeste, make sure Ginny receives an additional dose of pain potion as well,” Audrey instructs offhandedly. “It seems her last one is wearing off.”
When the contraction ends, Ginny’s entire body relaxes. “What the bloody fuck is oxyprogressive?” She asks once she catches her breath.
“It’s a potion that mimics the hormones that encourage the progression of labor,” Audrey explains, glancing over at the monitor that reports on frequency and strength with each contraction. “So by introducing more of the hormone, we trick your body into moving the process along more quickly. If you don’t want it, you don’t have to take it.”
“I’ll take it.” Ginny sounds almost desperate. “I’ll do anything to get this baby out.” And if it weren’t so painful, it would be almost funny. They wanted to keep the baby in for as long as possible and now that she knows he’s coming out, all she wants is to hasten it.
Celeste is almost immediately at Ginny’s bedside with a vial full of oxyprogressive and a dropper. Serenely, like a person in a church might take communion, Ginny opens her mouth and extends her tongue; Celeste carefully squeezes three measured drops. Ginny presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth to allow the portion to absorb before taking the vial of pain potion offered to her next and downing it whole.
It all moves rapidly from there.
It’s two hours later that Audrey comes in to check on Ginny and tells her — very eagerly — that it’s time. Not immediately, of course. They have to get ready and make sure their supplies are nearby; the pediatric team, who are on standby in case Snitch requires special attention due to his prematurity, have to be brought in; and Healer Harris, of course, needs to be called to return to Ginny’s room as well.
Harry takes that opportunity to sprint across the hall to the waiting room. Ron and Hermione are still there, though Ron is now bleary-eyed and awake. They are joined by Molly and Arthur Weasley, who must have returned to the hospital as soon as they woke up; they’re both nursing cups of tea.
“Harry!” Mrs. Weasley stands to fret over him. He assumes he looks like shite — running on pure adrenaline, almost no food, and very little sleep — which is never a good look for him in front of Ginny’s mother. “Is everything all right, dear?”
“I don’t have long,” Harry blurts, pulling away from her grasp. “Er, Ginny’s going to start pushing any minute. They’re just preparing and getting the pediatric healers in the room but — hopefully not too much longer. She’s doing so well. It’s definitely been a lot more uncomfortable these last couple of hours, but she’s doing amazingly .” He finishes and gestures idly to the door. “I’m going to go back in there. Feel free to let anyone else who might want to be here know and I’ll be back when we have a baby.” Saying it makes him feel nauseous and excited and fearful and hopeful all at once.
Molly looks like she’d very much like to follow him — and he knows she certainly believes she should be in the room when Ginny has her first baby — but Arthur, bless him, stands to guide Molly back to her chair. After offering a half-hearted and wholly unnecessary wave, Harry returns to the delivery room.
“I do not want her being my son’s healer,” Ginny seethes through gritted teeth, clearly in the middle of a contraction. Harry’s back by Ginny’s side, holding her hand, by the time he processes the statement enough to see Cho Chang standing awkwardly on the side of the room, accompanied by what must be a trainee healer, for the girl looks barely old enough to have graduated Hogwarts. Harry offers Cho a sympathetic smile, though this turns out to be the wrong move. “See! You got me pregnant, but you’re going to make eyes at Cho-bloody-Chang while I’m pushing out your sprog.”
The Weasley temper had, clearly, had flared during the last few hours with the spark being fully lit by Cho’s arrival.
“She’s the pediatric healer on call,” Audrey tells Ginny soothingly. She doesn't know why Ginny isn't a fan of Cho, but Harry supposes she doesn't really need to. “She’s really wonderful at her job, and she’ll take great care of Baby Potter if he needs it.” Healer Harris is positioning herself between Ginny’s legs, so Audrey is standing opposite Harry, holding Ginny’s other hand.
“She’s Harry’s ex-girlfriend,” Ginny responds, relaxing onto the pillow again.
“We’ve been over this, Gin, going on one very bad date when I was fifteen doesn’t count,” Harry sighs in exasperation. Then, realizing a bit too late that he said this with Cho in the room, he winces. But he’d never dare apologize, not when Ginny bit his head off for smiling at her. “She’s the healer who is here to care for Snitch and if you think I’m looking anywhere else right now you’re out of your mind.”
“But I don’t want her —”
Healer Harris cuts Ginny off; it’s clearly not a battle Ginny’s going to win, not when there are more important things at stake. “On the next contraction, we’re going to start pushing,” she declares.
Harry isn’t sure what, exactly, he thought that would look like. That being said, he doesn’t think he ever would have pictured it how it actually happens: him on one side, supporting one of Ginny’s legs and Audrey doing the same job on the other. He can feel his heartbeat thudding hard in his ears, in his fingertips as they grip around Ginny’s thighs. He looks at Ginny, and he sees her determination and focus, and he’s never been more in love with her.
All of her years of athletic endurance training have built to this moment, it seems. While Ginny is bearing down, trying to think about anything other than how uncomfortable she is, she thinks vaguely that it’ll be satisfying to tell her mother that; the unladylike, unbecoming career Molly so disapproved of actually prepared Ginny for birth much better than knitting and cooking and cleaning could have. She’s uncomfortable, but it’s nothing unbearable. If her life has taught her anything, it’s how to push yourself through discomfort to come out on the other side stronger, having accomplished your goals.
Between rounds, Harry tells her she’s doing so well, she’s brilliant, she’s strong, and he loves her so bloody much. Harry’s words of affirmation, the words of encouragement from Audrey and Healer Harris, and the sounds of her own grunts and guttural screams are the only sounds in the room for quite some time, tranquil music of early labor long forgotten. Then, Harry says a sentence that cuts through it all: “Is that his head?”
Ginny attempts to look between her own legs for a glimpse, but finds that position is unattainable. She can only see Healer Harris nod eagerly.
“Gin, he’s got hair! He’s got my hair.” Harry’s eyes look watery already, though Ginny supposes that might just be the sweat from her face pouring into her eyes. Even with pain potions, birth is hard work.
It’s only a few minutes later that she feels blissful relief, though it takes her a few seconds to realize that’s as a result of her son finally being out in the world. It only hits her when she hears Snitch’s first cries. They’re both strong and somewhat pathetic-sounding, and she exhales a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. If he can cry like that, certainly his lungs must be all right.
She doesn’t know who, exactly, vanishes the top part of her hospital gown, but they make quick work of doing so; Harry assists in severing the cord, and it’s only seconds later that a tiny, squirmy, and red-faced human is placed on her chest. She looks down at him — this little person who lived inside of her — and assesses him. He’s definitely on the small side, a consequence of being so early, but he’s much bigger than she feared he’d be in the scary days of early March. His eyes are greyish — like so many newborns’ are — and unfocused, but when Ginny hazards a glance into them, she swears there’s recognition there. He knows her, just like she knows him. Clinging to his scalp is a tuft of soft black hair — undeniably Harry’s — but it’s tough to know what features he got from whom other than that. He doesn’t look much like anyone yet. He looks like himself.
“Hi Snitch,” she coos, embarrassed to find there are two kinds of salt water pouring down her face now. “I’m your mummy.” She looks over at Harry who is definitely crying now, and offers him a grateful, besotted smile. “And that’s your daddy. When we can’t get your hair to lay flat, we’ll blame him.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Harry croaks, his voice sounding hoarse. He gingerly extends a finger to run along the back of the newborn’s tiny, soft hand. “I’m so happy you’re safe.” And while he might be imagining it, he feels like his son recognizes his voice, from all those times he spoke to Ginny’s belly. “We were so worried about you.”
“Pediatrics will need to borrow him in a few minutes to check everything out, but I think we’ve got our first preemie who won’t need time in the special care nursery since implementing this protocol,” Audrey announces to the room, sounding intensely relieved; Healer Harris looks immensely proud as well, beaming with the satisfaction of a job well done. “Congratulations,” she adds to Harry and Ginny, though she’s obviously remiss to interrupt a private moment between the new family.
Harry looks over at her, his emerald eyes watery. “Thank you.” If it weren’t for Audrey working with patients, connecting the dots, and sharing her findings with other healers, she would have never been brought in to help care for them; Harry and Ginny would have never known of the risk of preterm labor and wouldn’t have been able to take steps to ensure Snitch’s proper development; and they would probably not be enjoying a peaceful snuggle with their son now at all, because he’d likely have been whisked off to the special care nursery shortly after birth. Harry can’t articulate what this means to him — having his own family, having his son and his girlfriend safe and healthy — but his eyes say it all.
Audrey just smiles back. There’s other stuff she’ll tell them, but she’s not going to interrupt this moment of pure joy for it. Eventually, she and Ginny will talk about this day, and she’ll tell Ginny that this is why she’d gone into obstetrics and fertility in the first place: it’s one of the only healing specialties where you care for vulnerable patients and are rewarded with being present for the happiest days of their lives.
Ginny gets a few more moments of cuddling Snitch before Cho’s trainee — notably not Cho herself — apologetically scoops him up and brings him over to the corner, where an infant-sized exam table is set up for him. “Harry,” Ginny manages through her tears. “Can you go over there and watch him?”
“That’s a great idea,” Healer Harris tells Ginny and Harry. “We’ll just be a few more minutes, getting everything healed over here.”
Harry nods, overcome, and doesn’t need to be told twice. If he thought he was protective of the baby while Ginny was pregnant, it’s nothing compared to how he feels right now. Snitch is even smaller and more helpless than Harry could have imagined, and he can’t fathom letting something so tiny and thoroughly his out of his sight. He hasn’t even held Snitch yet — he went straight from Ginny’s arms to the exam — but he’s trying to be patient. The time for that will come, and as much as he wants to feel the baby’s weight in his arms, he knows this takes precedence.
Cho performs complicated spellwork over the baby, as her trainee watches intently. Harry forgets to breathe as he observes his son’s first checkup. “Six pounds even,” she announces. “Eighteen and a half inches. Quite big for a baby of this gestation. Pink skin, strong heart rate, lungs sound great. He’s in great shape for a full term baby, let alone a preemie,” she marvels.
“The development potion regimen,” the trainee suggests helpfully.
“Must be,” Cho agrees. She looks over at Harry, finally acknowledging his presence. “Congratulations, Harry. He’s perfect. He’s healthy.” She finishes her exam, and expertly puts a very small nappy on Snitch before swaddling him in a soft white blanket. The trainee hands over a hat to finish the look.
“Full term babies have trouble regulating their body temperatures, and he doesn’t have quite the same fat stores as a full term baby, so it’ll be even more important to keep him warm,” the trainee provides as an explanation; Snitch does seem to calm quite considerably with the blanket and hat, so there must be some validity to this. Harry can’t find the words to respond. He’ll personally swaddle the baby as often as needed and knit tiny hats for his tiny, perfect head, if that’s what it takes to keep him healthy and safe.
“Would you like to hold him, Harry?” Cho offers, scooping the baby up and offering him over.
He’s still teary, but even so he manages to grin. “Yeah,” he nods, too verklempt to say much more than that. He moves over and allows Cho to settle his son into his arms.
Distantly, he’s aware that the trainee is telling him to support the baby’s head, but Harry doesn’t need to be told to do that. This isn’t his first time holding a baby, though it is his first time holding a baby who is only minutes old. It’s his first time holding a baby who’s half him. Snitch’s eyes, which were open and glassy during his check up, begin to flutter shut. He’s comfortable, Harry thinks to himself. He knows I’m safe. And feeling that his son trusts him that way might be the best emotion Harry’s ever experienced.
He brings Snitch back over to Ginny, where they have more time to bond as a family, before the staff transports them to the postpartum room, where they’ll stay while Snitch is being monitored and Ginny is recovering from birth.
“I guess we should bring the family in,” Ginny sighs. She’s in clean pajamas now, and settled in against the pillows, with Snitch nestled in her arms, his delicate eyelids shut in sleep. Her fiery hair is still slick with sweat at the roots and it’s piled at the top of her head. There are dark circles under her eyes and her face is ruddy and puffy. She’s never looked lovelier.
“I’m sure they’ll all understand if you want to rest first,” Harry offers. It’s barely nine, and given that she’d been participating in an extreme endurance sport for more than 12 hours, he reckons she deserves a break. It’s almost like the day of the final battle, up at dawn with no chance for a real break until dawn broke the next day. But it’s different, too, because this time there’s no death and destruction at the end of it. There’s only new life.
Ginny shakes her head. “I mean, I’m knackered, obviously, but I’ve too much adrenaline to sleep at the moment, I think.” She can’t explain it, but she’s both utterly exhausted and buzzing with how awake she feels. Down to the soreness permeating every muscle of her body, she feels quite like she does at the end of a quidditch game.
Harry reaches a finger out to graze the back of Snitch’s impossibly soft hand. “I know what you mean,” he breathes.
“You also pushed a six pound human from your body after working on it for over twelve hours?” She arches a copper eyebrow at him, challenging him to accept credit for the work she did to bring their son into the world.
An incredulous guffaw erupts from Harry’s throat. “Er, no. Not even a little bit. Just that I can’t imagine going to sleep when I could just be looking at him.”
“We did make a really gorgeous little human,” Ginny hums in agreement, looking rather pleased with herself. “Or maybe I should say you made a gorgeous human. Aside from carrying and birthing him, you’d think I wasn’t involved at all.”
“It’s really just his hair,” Harry comments, cheeks flushing. He still doesn’t think the baby looks like anyone yet, though he does assume the hair will be enough resemblance for the comments to roll in as soon as the Weasleys meet him. “He’s got your ears.”
“My ears?” Ginny, of course, thinks that’s a ridiculous comparison. How can a person have another person’s ears, of all things?
But Harry just nods. “Yeah,” he nods eagerly. “See, your earlobes are attached. Mine aren’t. And his are, too.”
Self-consciously, she reaches her spare hand up to touch her earlobe. She’d never paid it much mind before, but Harry’s right: her earlobes are attached. Then, she reaches down to graze the side of Snitch’s ear with her finger, to confirm that Harry is right on that count too. He is. “Huh.”
“I counted five fingers on each hand and five toes on each foot during his checkup,” Harry informs her. “So I’m pretty sure he’s not missing anything.”
And she knows that the rush of love she’s supposed to be experiencing is for the baby boy in her arms. She knows that, and it’s not like she doesn’t love her brand new son. Of course she does. It’s just that at that moment, what she feels is a rush of love toward Harry, who in just a matter of hours has already proven himself to be a caring, devoted, doting father; Harry, who held her hand and told her he loved her while she did the hardest bloody thing she’d ever done in her life; Harry, who is exactly the person she always knew she wanted by her side through the best and hardest things, even when she couldn’t admit it to herself. And today, she learned that the best things and the hardest things are often one and the same.
The precious minutes they spend getting acquainted as a new family of three pass all too quickly. When Audrey reappears in the recovery room, apologetically informing them that Molly Weasley may burn down the hospital if she doesn’t meet her grandson soon, Harry and Ginny agree that perhaps it’s time to let the family in to meet Snitch after all. Ginny passes the baby to Harry, in preparation for everyone else to come in; it’ll be easier for everyone to crowd around the person who is able to stand and walk. As she does so, she can’t help but marvel at how natural Harry — the man who probably hadn’t had a hug until he was 11 — is with the baby, how easily being a father comes to him. He’s less tentative with their son than she is, which she suppose will come with practice; he practiced plenty with Teddy, after all.
Snitch is sleeping when the entire Weasley clan piles into the hospital room, so Harry removes the hand that’s supporting the baby’s bottom and lifts his finger to his lips to signal that they should be quiet. For their part, the Weasleys put in a valiant effort, but silence isn’t their strong suit, so they still make enough noise to wake the sleeping newborn.
“He doesn’t even look like a goblin!” Ron is the first to speak as he pushes his way to get a look at his new nephew.
“Ronald,” Hermione hisses, close behind him.
“What? Most babies look like wrinkly little goblins.”
“Oi! The father of the other baby you’ve interacted with is right here,” Bill interjects.
“He is beautiful, Harry,” Hermione breathes as Snitch lets out a few frustrated whines.
Expertly, Harry lifts the baby to his shoulder and begins to bounce. “Shhh,” he whispers. “It’s all right. Your family is just loud. You’ll learn to love it, I promise.”
Ginny’s had quite enough sentimentality for the day, of course. Even in her current state — postpartum and an emotional wreck — she can only handle so much of the sweetness and sincerity. So she breaks the tension. “That grumpy little — what did you call him, Ron? A goblin?”
“I said he’s not a goblin, actually,” Ron huffs indignantly, craning his neck to get a better look at the baby, now that his face is away from the rest of them. “He’s quite tiny, though, isn't he?”
“Well, he was six weeks early, Ron,” Ginny huffs. She looks over at Harry. “I think we’ve made a mistake choosing Ron as godfather.”
“I’m the godfather?!” Ron’s exclamation, of course, makes Snitch even grumpier.
The baby wails against his father’s shoulder while Harry lightly sways, trying to soothe him. "Who else would it be?" He asks Ron distractedly. Ginny mutters something that sounds suspiciously like git.
“Harry, dear, why don’t you let me try?” Molly cuts in. She doesn’t wait for a response before moving to take the baby from Harry; he has no choice but to participate in handing his son to his grandmother. Ginny silently hopes that this will only make the baby more disgruntled still, but Molly is able to soothe Snitch within minutes; the little boy clearly already knows who will make him sweets in a few years.
“Does he have a name?” Arthur asks, standing behind Molly to gaze at the baby over her shoulder. He’s got the soppiest smile on his face, and Ginny has to blink back tears. Something about seeing her dad emotional always gets her, but today it’s multiplied.
“Er, yeah,” Harry chuckles. “His name is Snitch Quaffle Potter.”
The room goes silent even though they were seemingly incapable of any quiet just moments ago; it’s as if they’re worried that Harry might actually be serious about this. It only eggs Ginny on. “Yeah, we chose the theme of ‘favorite balls’ so Harry chose Snitch and I chose Harry’s —”
As the Weasley brothers bite back cackles, and Molly looks so upset she might drop the baby, Ginny and Harry catch each other's eyes. Though Harry is rapidly turning red — sure, Ginny’s mum is holding the real, human proof that they’ve had sex, but that joke was rubbing it in a bit, wasn’t it? — they break into delirious hysterics.
“They’re having us on,” George points out, looking proud of his sister rather than upset with her.
“Guilty,” Harry laughs. “I dunno, though, it’s not too late to change it.” He looks at Ginny, cocking an eyebrow. “D’you reckon we should just change it to Snitch before he gets used to the other name?”
Ginny pretends to consider this. “Dunno. I quite like his other name, actually. The kind of name that really rolls off the tongue.”
“Mmm,” Harry agrees. “Well, in that case, I guess Snitch is just a cute nickname.”
They stare at each other for a bit, trying to negotiate who will say the name. Then Ginny smiles lazily with a twinkle in her eyes that seems to say all yours . Harry grins. “Well, then,” he claps his hands together, his eyes welling adoringly in anticipation. “I guess it’s time to officially introduce you to our son, James Sirius Potter.”
Some of those assembled, like Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, cry; Ron, being Ron, shouts, “I knew it!”; George wordlessly collects a galleon from Percy, having clearly capitalized on his prior knowledge of the name. Everyone passes him around, cooing fondly, and James warms to the mayhem quickly. A true Weasley, Ginny declares him later, once everyone has left and he’s guzzling milk from a bottle hungrily (he’d been unsuccessful nursing, though the healers all said that he’d grow strong enough in the coming days). But he’s got Harry’s black hair and his paternal grandfather’s name and birthday, so he’s a true Potter, too.