You Found Me

My baby shower was held on Saturday, the seventh of August and was, without a doubt, the biggest event Diagon Alley had seen since Harry Potter snuffed Voldemort.

George and I spent the entire morning waving our wands and being creative downstairs in the shop. The products had been stored in boxes, the shelves moved to the back room, the floor swept and scrubbed until it shone. There were mint green and pale yellow balloons clustered in the corners, and the violently yellow and magenta striped walls were hidden away with a bit of clever magic on George’s part, if only for the day.

Half the world was coming, as far as I knew. George and I had invited old friends from Hogwarts, some of whom I hadn’t seen since actually leaving school and who may not have known George and I were even together until opening their invitations (which, by the way, matched the décor and giggled when opened). George’s mother had invited the entire Weasley clan, and my parents said they’d be at King’s Cross around noon. Not to mention a general invitation had gone out to every shop owner on Diagon Alley, and most of them had accepted. I collapsed onto a stool in the corner of the shop and tried to decide if I’d made enough food.

“What’s wrong?” George asked from the center of the floor, where he was standing beneath a large, whimsical-looking mobile, which was a little more sophisticated than one you might find hanging over a baby’s crib. He waved his wand, and the thing suspended itself from the ceiling with a few gold cords, and he turned around to grin at me.

“Nothing,” I said, shifting my weight off my hips because my belly was damn enormous at thirty-four weeks, and sitting upright for extended periods of time did terrible things to my lower half. “Just wondering if we’re going to have enough food. I’ve seen how much you Weasleys eat.”

He chuckled and said “I’m sure we will. And I’m also sure that you could eat more than any of us. Sorry.”

“Not my fault,” I said, raising an authoritative finger. “Your child demands feeding every minute of every day. He or she is going to be obese coming out of the womb. I’m dreading the ordeal on so many levels.”

He laughed with his head tilted back and crossed the room to give me a rather loud kiss on the cheek.

“Right, so, the place is clean. The decorations are up. The food is done, and it’s only ten-thirty. What do you want to do until twelve?” He said, grinning and wagging his eyebrows.

“Don’t get your hopes up, George Weasley.” I said, “I think, at this point, it’d be like penetrating a sack of inflated water balloons, and I’m not sure you’d be interested given the chance. Plus, I’m pretty sure my spine is currently pretty prone to snapping without warning.” I pressed a hand into the small of my back, demonstrating my discomfort without really meaning to.

He pondered for a moment, rubbing his chin.

“I suppose you’re right.” He said with an unmistakable air of defeat, and kissed me again.

“Not to mention, it’ll probably take me all of the hour and a half to waddle my way over to King’s Cross, anyway. You can come, if you like.” I heaved myself up off the stool and held my hand out.

He took it with a grin and we left the shop, locking the door behind us.

After meeting my parents and exchanging exclamations about how bloody large I was, the four of us returned to the flat to prepare for the festivities. If I knew Molly Weasley at all, she’d drag her clan out the door two hours early for seemingly no reason, and I didn’t want to be a complete mess when they all arrived. After showering, I pulled on a white cotton dress (a choice I’d probably regret after splattering myself with everything I decided to bring near my mouth) and used my wand to style my hair the same way it had been the day George and I were married.

And, as I suspected, the moment I finished smoothing myself over, I heard my mother in law exclaiming over the decorations downstairs - one hour and fifteen minutes too early.

George was in the shower, having just set up chairs and ottomans and cushions and other things for sitting and gotten sweaty in the process, so I made my way down the spiral staircase alone to greet everyone. My belly shuddered with the flurry of kicking going on behind my navel. By way of greeting, I waddled up behind Mrs. Weasley, snatched up her hand, and pressed it against the cotton of my dress. Her eyes went wide.

“Oh, my!” She tittered, lifting her other hand to place it beside the first. “It’s wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. How are you, Lacey, dear?” She kissed my cheek and resumed staring at my belly with rapt interest.

“Fine,” I said airily. “I feel like this baby is going to pop out any second, now, but I’m fine.”

“He feels very low.” She said once the kicking had stopped. “I should think he’ll be ready within the next couple of weeks, if not sooner. Is the nursery ready? You have everything you need?”

“Everything’s fine.” I said, smiling as serenely as possible given the fact that I felt like my chest was going to implode in panic. I wasn’t sure I was ready for a baby in the house, quite yet, and that was bullocks for me because Mrs. Weasley usually knew what she was talking about. I did hope, however, that she was right about the ‘he’ thing.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Oh, I’ll just help myself to a bit of champagne. Daddy might want something, though.” With that, she bustled off, her heeled boots tapping warmly on the wood floor.

“I’m fine, Lacey. Don’t listen to Mother.” Mr. Weasley said, kissing my cheek and smiling warmly. “Where’s George?”

“He’s just getting ready. He should be down in a minute or two.”

I was then subject to much belly-rubbing and cooing and cheek pinching from members of George’s family who I both knew (Charlie, Bill and Fleur with little Victoire, and Percy), as well as those that I didn’t actually know very well. It was a never-ending sea of gingers, all who felt the need to tell me how lovely I looked, which was only nice the first fifteen times. The sight of Harry Potter’s shock of black hair was an immense relief, as was the fact that he kept his hands in his pockets as he approached, followed closely by Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

“Hello, Lacey.” He said with a dip of his head.

“Hi, Harry.” I said, wrapping an arm about his shoulders in the what was the third willing hug I’d given so far. “Glad you could come.”

“Oh, yeah. Wouldn’t miss it.” he said and stepped aside for Ron.

“Bloody hell.”

“Hello, Ronald.” I rolled my eyes and hugged him, too. “You know, part of the reason I want to just have this baby and get it over with is so that you’ll stop bloody saying that every time you see me.”

“I can’t help it.” He said. “Every time I see you, you’re bigger.”

“Oh, get out of here.” I said, punching his shoulder and pushing him away.

“Don’t listen to him.” Ginny said, shaking her head and kissing my cheek. “You look great.”

“Do you think so?” I said, looking disdainfully down at my unrecognizable midriff. “D’you think I should make it permanent? Because I’m certainly not completely sick of constantly having my stomach rubbed and patted by everyone I come across, stranger or no. I swear, Gin, I’m no better than the family dog.”

“You’re prettier than the family dog.” Hermione smiled.

“Where should I put this?” She asked, motioning to a rather large gift box wrapped in blue and green paper.

“Oh, er, over on the farthest table. Thanks.”

As she was walking away, George appeared at my side, clean-shaven and dressed in a button-down shirt and jeans.

“Well, you handled all of that well.” He said, draping his arm about my shoulders. “Nicely done.”

“No thanks to you.” I said, grinning and shrugging him off. “While you were up there lolling about in the tub, I was down here drowning in a sea of Weasleys.”

“We don’t have a tub, so I certainly wasn’t lolling. And, secondly, I was drowning, too, over by the counter.”

“Oh.”

“No matter. I brought the food down, so they’ll all be content for a little while, at least.” He put his arm around my shoulders again, and I stood on tip-toe to kiss him. I missed, though, and caught the edge of his jaw, because at the last second, he’d looked up and shouted “Lee Jordan!”

Sure enough, there was a tall, dreadlocked, black boy standing in the doorway, wrapped gift under his arm, white teeth bared in a grin. He really wasn’t a boy anymore, though. Even since the last I’d seen him, he seemed to have lost a little bit of the energy everyone had come to associate with him while we were in school. It had been replaced with a warm friendliness that made me think of businessmen who still liked Quidditch. George broke away from me and they hugged each other, both laughing and clapping the other on the back.

“George Weasley! How’ve you been?”

“Bloody brilliant, mate. It’s been a long time.”

“That it has. Lacey!” Lee stepped away from George and wrapped his arms around me in a hug identical to the ones I remembered from what felt like lifetimes ago. I grinned into his shoulder, reveling in the feeling of being sixteen and blissfully naïve again, even if only for a minute.

“Hell, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to stop thinking of you as Lacey Anne James.” Lee released me and shook his head. “Sorry, George. I know she’s a Weasley now, but -”

“Old habits die hard.” George chuckled. “That’s alright.”

Lee whistled through his teeth and stared around, using a hand to ruffle his own dreadlocks. His eyes came to rest on me again, and I couldn’t help but chuckle because I knew exactly what he was going to say. Really, I’d been thinking the same thing myself.

“Look at all this.” He said. “Look at us. Blimey, it’s all barking.”

“Remember the train, Lee? On our last day at Hogwarts, we rode the train together because those two smarmy ginger gits left us to rot?” I said, elbowing George in the ribs.

“How could I forget? Remember when you three got detention from Snape after Pansy Parkinson called you a mudblood?”

“Fucking hell, that was sixth year. Merlin, I feel old.” George said, shaking his head.

None of us mentioned the months we’d spent in the cabin, or anything that had happened while we were there. Personally, I kept all those memories behind curtains in my head. I was afraid that thinking about them too much might wear them out, like playing the same record over and over or wearing the same shoes. I didn’t want to forget them, but I didn’t want to remember them, either. There was a minute or two of silence in which, I knew, we were all thinking the same thing.

“It’s really great to see you, Lee.” I said, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. “Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?”

He chuckled. “I’m always hungry, but I can get it myself.”

George squeezed my shoulders once and walked with Lee toward the food table, which, I was glad to see, was holding up quite nicely. There was a thudding in my abdomen again, and I pressed my hands against it before moving to join the crowd of party-goers. I wouldn’t even mind if someone wanted to make a fuss over the size of me, I decided, since that was sort of the point.



In the end, there must’ve been somewhere close to a hundred people at the party, all laughing and talking and sipping champagne. I’d seen Luna Lovegood dressed rather normally with her father in tow. Neville Longbottom had arrived with a rather pretty girl on his arm and been slapped on the back several times. Apparently, his heroism at the Battle of Hogwarts hadn’t been forgotten. Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, and Angelina Johnson arrived together, wearing Gryffindor scarves for sport and carrying with them an album of Gryffindor Quidditch photographs taken by one of their fathers at the matches. Oliver Wood had caused quite a stir, as most people recognized him as a player for Puddlemere United, but he’d grinned and pumped George’s hand like they were fifteen and still playing Quidditch together. The two of them, along with Angelina, Katie, and Alicia, had poured over the album together, sometimes laughing hysterically at this blunder or that victory.

Among the rest of the guests were Minerva McGonagall dressed - as always - in her crisp black robes and pointed hat, Andromeda Tonks with little Teddy on her hip, Ollivander the wand maker looking frail but still cheerful, Rubeus Hagrid with a platter of rock cakes, Monsieur and Madame Delacoeur in all their glory, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, and even Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt who, come to find out, was not above helping me out of my seat when I’d wanted to stand and greet him.

“’Oo, Lacey!” Fleur said throatily as I passed her on my way to the food table. “Alors, you are ‘uge! Bigger zan I was!”

I had to fight to keep my eyes from rolling and, instead, smiled at her and said “I know. It’s awful, isn’t it?”

“Ah, no, not at all! I zink you look lovely zis way. And zee baby must be ‘ealthy, no?”

“Thank you, Fleur. How are you and Bill? And Victoire? She’s beautiful, by the way.” I said, glancing over at Bill who was, in fact, standing in the middle of a crowd of Weasleys with his baby cradled in his arms.

“We are wonderful,” She said dreamily. “Victoire eez zee perfect child, I am conveenced.”

“How lucky.” I said, wondering half-heartedly why everything about this woman had to be perfect. She couldn’t have at least had a baby that screamed every moment of it’s life? I bit back the thought, though, because Fleur had been kind to me for most of the time I’d known her. It had been her who found my wedding dress, after all.

“’Zis champagne eez not zee best.” She said, sniffing at her glass. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, then. “I will ‘ave Maman send a bottle of zee best champagne you will ever taste for you and George after zee baby comes.”

“Fleur, I can’t accept something like that.” I said.

“Of course you can! Eet eez zee only way to properly celebrate a baby.” She said, and flitted away, back to Bill and Victoire. I continued on toward the food table, wondering if Fleur and I would ever have a normal conversation.

Nearly every single guest had brought a gift, I noticed, looking at the long table that was practically bowing underneath the enormous piles of gifts all wrapped in pastel colored paper, and the time eventually came when I was ushered into a chair at the head of the crowd to begin the never-ending task of opening endless boxes of nappies and soft blankets. I set about tearing paper and ribbons and exclaiming over everything politely, even though I thought most of what I’d received something closer to “BLOODY HELL, WOW”.

When there were twenty blankets, twelve boxes of nappies, a ride-on broomstick and children’s Quidditch set (“For when they’re a little older”, Wood said, raising his glass of champagne to George and I and inclining his head), four baby books, sixteen stuffed animals, and a rocking horse arranged around my feet with more than half the table still to unwrap, there was a strange popping feeling in my lower abdomen that I probably wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been bent over and reaching out to touch the blanket Mrs. Weasley had knitted for us. I stopped mid-reach and felt my eyes narrow as I tried to figure out what on Earth the strange sensation had been. The room was quiet.

“What’s wrong?” George asked, his eyebrows knitted together. I turned my head to look at him, my lower lip clenched between my teeth in concentration.

“I don’t know.” I said, and straightened up. As soon as I did, I regretted it.

“Fucking hell.” I said, louder than I probably should have.

“What?” George said, crouching down so that his face was next to mine. “What’s going on?”

“Either I just pissed myself, or this baby’s coming today.” I whispered slowly, and was very aware of the sound of water dripping onto the floor beneath me. A few of the people sitting closer to me gasped. Mrs. Weasley leapt into action.

“All right, all right,” She said, stepping over people and chairs and ottomans to stand in front of me with her hands on her hips. “George, go fetch some towels.”

George stood there, motionless and pale, staring between the puddle of water which was rapidly beginning to spread across the floor beneath my chair, my face, and the shockingly commanding form of his mother. She was pinning her hair back and rolling up her sleeves, a determined look on her face.

“George! Towels!” She said.

“Oh, er, right.” He said, and dashed off through the curtained doorway and up the spiral staircase.

“Bollocks.” I said, putting my forehead in my hand with a sigh. “Leave it to me to ruin a party.”

“Oh, hush now. You haven’t ruined it.” Mrs. Weasley said, moving the unwrapped gifts away from the puddle. “GEORGE!” she screeched without changing her expression. He appeared not a second later and tried to stuff my arms full of our bathroom towels.

“Your mum needs them, you prat.” I said, chuckling weakly.

“Oh, that’s right.” He said, taking them back with shaking hands and handing them to her. He stared at me with a terrified look on his face.

All at once, the shower guests started to move. Some of the Weasley relatives I didn’t know very well simply got up and left. Those I did know hovered nervously a few feet behind Mrs. Weasley until she told them to give her some space. My mother appeared at my right elbow and began frantically smoothing my hair off my face.

“Mum,” I said, trying to worm out from under her hand. “Mum, I’m fine. Stop petting me, please.”

I looked up and saw that George had already started pacing and that his skin was sort of the same color Bill’s had been that night in the hospital.

“If you want to make someone feel better, he looks like he needs it more than me.” I said, motioning to him with a slightly shaking hand.

“What can we do?” Ginny and Hermione had appeared and crouched down next to Mrs. Weasley. They each took up a towel and began mopping at the floor.

“Thank you dear, that’s fine.” Mrs. Weasley said approvingly, but took the towels from them anyway. “Run ahead to St. Mungo’s and make sure they have a room ready.” She cast a glance over her shoulder and said, “Take Ron and Harry with you. They look like they could be sick.”

“Good luck.” Hermione said, reaching over to squeeze my wrist before darting after Ginny.

“George,” I heard Ginny snap, “Your wife’s in labor, and all you can do is stand there pacing like a miserable tosspot. Get your arse over there and hold her hand, you idiot!”

And then he was there, all freckles and worry. He took my hand in his and squeezed it until I thought it might break.

“That’s my job.” I chuckled, bringing forth a new rush of water. I leaned my head back against the chair with a heavy sigh.

“Sorry,” He said, loosening his hold. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a good thing, because neither have I.” I said, recalling a conversation we’d had nearly nine months ago when I’d first told him I was pregnant. He smiled a little.

“Right,” Mrs. Weasley said, clapping her hands together, “Let’s go have a baby, shall we?”

“Don’t worry.” I said, lifting George’s hand and holding it against my cheek. “I’m bloody scared, too.”