You Found Me

“I’m thinking blue and brown.”

Four-and-a-half more weeks had passed since George’s birthday, and I was sitting cross-legged on the floor of Fred’s old room. My stomach (which was rapidly gaining enough mass to soon require its own postal code) was resting heavily on my legs. It was unseasonably warm and, though the windows were open, I was sweating rivulets. George, on the other hand, appeared to be perfectly fine.

“What was that?” He said distractedly, flipping through an empty baby book that my mother had recently sent us.

“Blue and brown. For the nursery.” I repeated, leaning back on my hands and shaking my hair away from my neck. “Blimey, it’s hot.”

“I like blue and brown. But what if it’s a girl?” He looked up from his perusing.

“It’s not going to be a girl.” I said. George rolled his eyes. I sighed. “If it’s a girl, we’ll add a few bows, or something.”

“Better.” He grinned.

“When’s lunch?” I asked, pressing my hand into my rumbling stomach.

“Bloody hell, Lace, we finished breakfast an hour ago.”

“Shut up, George.” I said, frowning at him, “You’re not the one eating for two. I’m damn starving.”

He laughed and shook his head, then continued flipping through the album. I used my wand to summon a few hair pins from our bedroom, then spent a few minutes taming my hair into a relatively neat twist. Sweat was beading on my temples and my clothes were sticky. My mounds of hair certainly weren’t helping.

I shot another glare at George. He seemed to be doing just fine in his jeans and tee-shirt. Meanwhile, I was about two and a half seconds away from stripping myself naked, which really meant something because I usually kept my clothes on at all times unless I was bathing. My body was rather weird looking, if I’m to be honest about it. I flopped onto my back, most certainly mussing the twist I’d just given myself.

“I want this baby out. Right now.” I growled, throwing an arm dramatically across my eyes.

“It’s probably funny looking right now, though.” George said, setting the baby book aside and looking down at me with his elbows on his knees.

“I don’t care.” I said, heaving myself back into a sitting position. “I’m just going to get fatter and fatter until it comes out. Even then, I’ll probably be fat for the rest of my life.” I pondered for a minute. “Think about that, George. You’re going to have a fat wife who wears curlers in her hair and waddles around in a housecoat all day.”

As he was thinking, a tiny owl swooped in through the open window, a roll of parchment twice its size tied to its leg.

“Hello, Pig.” George said, catching the Weasley family owl in his palm and untying the scroll. “It’s from Mum and Dad.” He said, obviously having recognized the hand our names were written in.

I had already stood and was, at that point, hunched over just behind him so that I could read over his shoulder. There was no salutation and no signature, just two scribbled lines.

Fleur’s in labor. Meet us at St. Mungo’s.



George and I hadn’t wasted any time leaving the flat. He’d wanted to apparate and be done with it given my condition, but I’d talked him down saying that it was silly to apparate when St. Mungo’s was within walking distance, anyway.

We’d arrived almost twenty minutes after receiving the letter. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were already there, both sitting in the hallway outside Fleur’s hospital room on tidy looking chairs. Ron, Harry, and Ginny were there, too. The lot of them looked up when George and I came barreling around the corner, him a few steps ahead and me lagging behind with my distinct waddle and a scowl on my face.

“Oh, wonderful! We were afraid Pigwidgeon might’ve gotten lost. We’ve been here for hours, now. I was about to send Ron over to get you.” Mrs. Weasley said before standing and kissing us.

“Has she had the baby, yet?” I asked, craning my head to get a look into the room.

“Oh, goodness, no.” Mrs. Weasley waved her hand dismissively. “Poor dear has a while to wait. She’s having contractions, but the healer doesn’t think the baby will come until late tonight or tomorrow.”

“Can’t they give her something to speed the process up?” I asked.

“No, no. Best not to mix babies and magic.” She said wisely, then disappeared into the hospital room.

“Hello, Lacey. George.” Mr. Weasley stood up and nodded. He looked nervous with his hands stuffed into his pockets. “I’m off to find a cup of tea. Tell Mother when she comes back out, George. There’s a good lad.” With that, he strolled off down the corridor.

“She’s been moaning something awful.” Ron mumbled as I sat down in the chair next to his. George sat on the other side of me and grinned.

“Take notes, Lace. It’ll be you next.” He said. Harry and Ginny laughed. I felt the color drain from my face.

“I don’t even like to think about it.” I admitted, leaning back in the chair and putting my hands on my stomach. “The idea of squeezing another human into existence from my…”

“STOP.” Ron said, clapping his hands over his ears. “Bloody hell, Lacey, I don’t want to know.”

“Just be glad you’re not the one doing it.” I snapped, blanching upon hearing a low moan issue from Fleur’s room. I put my head in my hands. George started to laugh. I glanced up at him. “Shut up, George. It’s all your fault, anyway.”

“My fault?” There was another round of chuckles.

“Yes, your fault. Your seed, your fault.”

George reached out and looped his arm around my neck, then used his hold on me to drag me closer to him.

His lips were on my ear when he said, “If I remember correctly, you were all too willing.”

I shoved him away and he wagged his eyebrows, a slow grin working its way across his face. I stuck my tongue out at him.

“No offense, guys.” Ginny said, holding up her hands. “But this is getting a bit too… weird.”

“So,” Ron interjected, obviously flailing madly for a subject change, “How’re things at the shop?”

George laughed and reached for my hand, then thought for a minute.

“Things aren’t bad. I’ve been working on a few new things. You know, just some stuff to keep people interested.”

“Why would you bloody do that?” Ron’s eyes went a little wide. “You’re already raking in the galleons, aren’t you?”

“Oh, we are.” George waved his hand dismissively. “But the other afternoon, a bloke came in and asked if we had anything new. When I said no, he walked back out without buying a damn thing. I s’pose he’ll be the first of many, if I don’t think up something.”

“Any ideas?” Harry asked. He’d been so quiet up until that point, I’d almost forgotten he was there.

“As it just so happens, Harry, I’ve got a few.” George winked, “But best keep this between us. I don’t want anyone getting wind… you know.”

And then, just like one would expect, the three younger kids huddled in a bit closer so that George could dive into descriptions of the new products: Conk Out Candles, which, when lit, can put a room full of people into a sleep which lasts until the candle is extinguished (we still had a few bugs to work out on that one… the igniter [usually George] ends up asleep, too), Baboon Bon-Bons which would be sold alongside the Canary Creams (George was of a mind to develop an entire line of food products that turn people into animals, since Canary Creams were a huge seller), Popping Pillows, which, as is implied, pop like balloons and give off a shower of confetti after its user has been asleep for a previously selected amount of time, as well as a few others with astoundingly clever names (sarcasm, there).

“So, Harry,” I said once George had finished, “You mentioned a while ago that you’d gotten a job in London.”

“Yeah,” He said, “I’m working at the ministry.”

George whistled through his teeth, “Ooh, another ministry rat.”

“Shut up.” Harry laughed, “No, no. I’m just doing some filing, right now. Kingsley hired me on.”

“And you haven’t been by to see us?” I said in mock disappointment. “We’re right down the bloody way and you couldn’t be bothered to pop in for tea?”

“Sorry. I’ve just been really busy.” He said hurriedly.

“Keep your knickers on. I was just kidding.” I grinned at him. “We’ve been busy, too. And I’m not exactly in the right form for hosting afternoon teas with dainty sandwiches and pretty cakes. You should bloody see the size of my ankles.” I thought for a moment. “Actually, I wish I could bloody see the size of my ankles. I bet they’re huge. I just know they hurt like a bastard at the end of the day.”

“They are.” Offered Ron cheerfully. “And so are you.” Ginny elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“I know.” I sighed, “Don’t worry, Ron. I know it looks like I’ve got a satchel of melons stuffed under my shirt. I’d be daft to think that people wouldn’t notice how fat I am.”

“Is it twins?” Ginny asked, obviously having abandoned her attempts at kindness.

“No. Just one.” George said for me.

“It’s got to be twins.” Ron said, almost looking frightened with the way his eyes shifted between my face and my stomach. “Lacey, you’re bloody enormous.”

“Thank you, Ronald.” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Or maybe it’s Flitwick, all curled up under there.” Ginny said thoughtfully, much to the amusement of George, who spent the next five minutes guffawing like an idiot.

“Seriously, though.” Ron said after all the laughter had subsided. “It’s got to be soon, right? I mean, you’ll have it soon? The baby?”

“No, not really.” I sighed. “I’m only a little past the halfway mark. I’ve still got about four months.”

“Bloody hell, how do you stand it?” Ginny said.

“It’s not that bad. It’s probably worse for George, really.” I said.

“She eats a lot.” George said with a shrug. “And she has a hard time working at the shop all day so she’s right awful at night. But she’s alright.” He grinned at me.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Harry asked.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Ginny said, “Even wizards can’t tell.”

“No, but muggles can.” Harry said. “And Lacey’s muggle-born.”

“How?” Ginny said, looking simultaneously fascinated and horrified. I chuckled.

“Well, er, there’s this machine with a sort of… I don’t know, it’s sort of a wand. And they put this goo on your stomach and then put the wand to your belly and it sort of takes pictures inside you.” I explained.

“Gross.” Ron said, his face screwed up in disgust.

“Well, not really. It’s not like you can see your guts, or anything. Just the baby.” I said.

“Does it hurt?” Ginny asked.

“Well, I haven’t done it, but I’d assume not.”

Just then, Hermione bolted into our hallway from around the furthest corner. She slid to a stop in front of us, hair a mess, breathing heavy, eyes wide.

“Hello Hermione.” Ginny, George, and I said simultaneously. Harry and Ron were laughing.

“Oh, I’ve only just heard. Things were so busy at the ministry and I came right away. Has she had the baby yet?” Hermione said breathlessly.

“No,” Ginny said, “The healer says not until later tonight or maybe tomorrow.”

“Oh, good.” She dropped into a free chair and smoothed her hair away from her face.

The five of us settled into easy chatter, later joined by Mr. Weasley who still looked a little on edge and didn’t stay long. Bill paced in and out of Fleur’s room occasionally, but didn’t seem to notice any of us sitting there. I didn’t see Mrs. Weasley at all. She stayed hidden beside Fleur’s bed, but whenever I got up and walked past the open doorway to use the loo, I could hear her low, unaccompanied murmuring and knew she was where she needed to be.

I settled in to wait, and wait I did.



It was nearly two in the morning when a shriek the likes of which I’d never heard in my life emanated from inside Fleur’s room.

George was doing little magic tricks with his wand, a look of deep concentration on his face. He hadn’t spoken for a while. Hermione was dozing on Ginny’s shoulder, Ron was asleep in his chair, and Harry had gotten up and left for the bathroom. At the sound of Fleur’s vocalization, the group of us minus Harry snapped to attention and stared at each other, wide-eyed and bloody terrified.

Bill, who had been pacing the hallway with a cup of black coffee in his hand, turned the color of oatmeal and dashed through the doorway, tearing the curtain closed behind him. I heard Mrs. Weasley begin murmuring in soothing tones, though Fleur was beginning to scream in French and I didn’t think anything her mother-in-law was saying was going to help.

I clapped my hands over my ears and thumped my forehead down on George’s shoulder. He patted my back awkwardly, and I hoped he was regretting his “it’ll be you next” statement because, the more I thought about it being me in there, screaming in a way that would put banshees to shame, the more I wanted to deck him for getting me pregnant in the first place. But, I had to remind myself, That would be unfair. Like he'd said, I wasn’t exactly fighting him off the night it happened.

Harry appeared from around the corner, a look of horror on his face.

“I could hear her from the bathroom.” He said, taking his seat between Ginny and Ron. “What’s going on?”

“Well, from the sound of things, mate, I’d say she’s having a baby.” George said and chuckled uneasily.

“Oh, that’s awful.” Hermione whimpered, covering her own ears. “Can’t they do anything for her? A potion, or something?”

“Mum says you can’t mix babies and magic.” Ginny said seriously. “What if something goes wrong?”

“It sounds like something’s already gone wrong.” Ron said after a bout of frantic French from inside the hospital room.

“Ronald.” Hermione hissed, punching Ron in the shoulder harder than she probably meant to. He winced and leaned his head back against the wall.

The screeching and groaning and murmuring - as well as occasional coaching from Bill - went on for what seemed like forever. I kept my forehead on George’s shoulder and tried to forget the fact that, indeed, it would be me in that room in a few short months. I pressed a hand to my belly and squeezed my eyes shut.

I didn’t know how long it all went on. At some point, Mr. Weasley appeared with six cups of tea on a tray. He pressed one of them into my hand with a weak smile, but then disappeared again, presumably back downstairs to the atrium, where he would be long out of earshot and probably much more at ease than any of us. We sipped at our tea anxiously, glancing around at each other from over the rims of our cups.

All at once, Fleur’s screeching reached a point which I would’ve assumed was inhuman had I not known what was going on, and then cut off with a gasp. There was silence from inside the room. I held my breath, and I think George did, too, because his grip on me had become a little tighter. Hermione and I stared at each other with wide eyes, waiting.

And then there it was: a tiny little mewling and a rush of voices that all blended together in a mess of relief. Hermione smiled and put her forehead in her hand.

“Bloody hell.” I heard her mutter.

Ron was still white as a sheet, but he stood shakily and nodded at George. “D’you think we should go in, then?”

“Dunno.” George croaked, standing, too. “Maybe we should wait? I don’t know what they do after babies are born, and I don’t want to - ”

Mrs. Weasley pulled back the curtain in the doorway, interrupting the conversation with a wordless cry of joy. She had tears on her cheeks, and she said “Oh, come in! Come in! Where’s Daddy?”

Ron, George, and Ginny disappeared through the doorway, followed by Hermione and Harry. I hesitated, scratching nervously at the inside of my right elbow. Did I really want to see what sort of toll giving birth had on a person? Especially knowing that I’d be the next one subject to it?

“Come on, Lacey. Good girl, come and see.”

Oh, hell. I approached and she wrapped an arm around behind me and ushered me through the door.

The room was a lot less stark than I would’ve expected. A fire crackled and popped cheerily on the hearth against the far wall. A cauldron bubbled, and there was a fat and jolly looking woman dressed all in white standing over it with an armful of towels. The windows were hung with pale yellow draperies, which matched the bedding and the rug on the floor. It struck me that the room seemed to be right out of some country cottage, and my anxiety dropped a few notches. I slowly made my way into the ring of people around the bed. George looked over his shoulder at me and turned to the side slightly, so that the front of his right hip pressed into the back of my left while we stood there.

Bill was crouched at the head of the bed, where Fleur was propped up against several pillows. They smiled down at the fleshy little thing she held in her arms, but glanced up at the rest of us every once in a while, like they were saying “See? Isn’t this amazing? Just look”. I did, mostly because I could see a tiny foot working its way out from the bindings of a knitted pink blanket and it was suddenly the most interesting thing I’d ever seen in my life. This living, breathing thing hadn’t been here ten minutes ago and now, there it was, flailing around inside its wrappings, marveling at this strange turn of events.

Fleur beamed up at me, at the way I’d placed my hands over my belly without thinking about it, and held her baby up for all of us to see.

“Victoire.” She said softly, and I stared at the baby girl who looked so like her father before Fenrir Greyback, and who had hair the color of corn silk like her mother.

It was three twenty-six in the morning, the second of May, 1999. Exactly a year after the battle of Hogwarts, after the deaths of Fred and so many others, but it was also the birthday of a little girl whose name meant victory. I wasn’t the most sentimental person in the world, but my eyes blurred and a few silent tears spilled down my cheeks, because I’d just been reminded that, yes, it had been a victory. All of it. All the losses, all the hurt, all the hours spent missing all the people none of us would ever see again, and we had victory because we had hope. This little slip of a baby girl and the baby George and I were expecting were all the proof in the world.

George’s hand found mine, and I knew he was thinking something similar. His fingers wound through mine, and I held tight, feeling like things made a little more sense, somehow.