You Found Me

The first manner of business when one is having a baby is, I suppose, actually getting to the hospital.

For a few minutes, I’d sat there in my chair, water soaking through the cotton of my dress, while George, Mrs. Weasley, and my mother argued and suggested and discussed different modes of transportation for me. My mother wanted to go out to muggle London and hail a taxi. I calmly reminded her that I was in no way capable of such a walk, and I wouldn’t have my child born on the sidewalk - or worse, in the Leaky Cauldron if I couldn’t even make it to the sidewalk. Not to mention if you asked a muggle cab driver for St. Mungo’s, you’d probably get laughed at. George suggested apparition, which I also declined because I was pretty sure the pressure might just push the baby right out of me and I didn’t even want to think about the consequences of giving birth while stuck somewhere in the space-time continuum, or whatever.

Mrs. Weasley, being herself and, therefore, always brilliant and prepared and logical, suggested Floo Powder because of course St. Mungo’s was on the Floo Network for emergency purposes and this bloody well looked like an emergency.

“I think I like that idea best.” I admitted, just as a wave of pain like I’d never felt in my life nearly bowled me over. “But I’m going to need help up the stairs. I think my contractions have started.”

“What are we to do, then?” Angelina Johnson called, reminding me that half the shower guests were still standing around the shop with worried looks on their faces.

“Help yourself to the food.” I said weakly.

“Meet us at St. Mungo’s, of course.” Mrs. Weasley said smartly. “Now, then. Let’s see about those stairs. Give me your hands, Lacey, dear. George, you support her there,” She glanced over her shoulder quickly, then said, “Lee Jordan, you support her other side.”

“This is ridiculous.” I said impatiently, raising my hands nonetheless.

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Weasley shook her head.

“Hey, Lacey.” Lee said, taking hold of the underside of my left arm and flashing me a brilliantly white smile.

“Hi, Lee. Where’s my mum and dad?” I said, trying to see around him.

“They’re here, Lace.” George said, his mouth very close to my right ear.

“Somebody better warn them about the fire.” I said and struggled to my feet. “You three might want to watch your shoes.” I said lamely when there was another rush of water down my legs. “Bloody hell, that’s awful. Right, okay. To the stairs, then.”

Leaning heavily on George because another contraction had swept through me and left me with my legs shaking, I successfully climbed the spiral staircase and crossed the flat into our bedroom, where Mrs. Weasley had already stoked up the flames and opened her leather sack of Floo Powder.

“Mum, you go first.” George said. “Lacey will go next, then me. Lee, you help Lacey’s parents.”

“What on Earth is going on here?” My mother said. Nobody bothered answering her, and she screamed when Mrs. Weasley threw down her powder and stepped surely into the emerald flames. As she disappeared, George took hold of my shoulders and turned me around to face him.

“No bouncing off to Romania, or wherever.” He said, pointing a finger into my face with a shaky grin. “Highly counterproductive, today especially.”

“Don’t follow too close.” I replied and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be fine.”

“Right. Go on, then.”

I took my fistful of powder from the sack Lee was holding and stepped close enough to the hearth to feel the heat on my face. My mother whimpered behind me. I shouted “St. Mungo’s!” and opened my fist.

I didn’t go to Romania, but instead stumbled into the waiting arms of my mother in law, who, being her completely brilliant self, as usual, had three Healers and an old whicker wheelchair waiting for me.

“There, now, that’s it. Good girl, good girl.” She murmured, her arm wrapped around my shoulders and her hand in mine as I sank into the chair, and I was glad she’d be in the room with me for the whole ordeal. The Healer holding my chair made to wheel me off.

“Stop it right there, young man.” Mrs. Weasley said sharply. “My son is not here yet.”

The Healer stopped, and a moment later, George came spinning out of the flames, his face smudged with soot.

“I thought your mum was going to throttle me.” He said breathlessly. “Held the front of my shirt until I explained Floo Powder to her. They might be awhile. She still didn’t want to do it.”

“Poor Lee.” I rolled my eyes and reached for George’s hand.

He somehow managed to keep hold of it, his fingers threaded through mine, as I was rushed through the labyrinth of halls and into the birthing ward. We passed the room Victoire had been born in and came to a closed door at the other end of the hall, through which was a room decorated in pale blues and yellows. A fire crackled on the hearth and the sun streamed in through the windows. I sat for a moment in relative, contraction-free quiet, staring around from my chair, allowing the colors and the smell of George’s woolen sweaters and apples and our bed linens at home to soak through my skin. It must’ve been some sort of spell, I decided, because I was instantly quite a bit calmer.

“What does it smell like?” Mrs. Weasley said with a sly smile. “It’s supposed to be different for every person according to what is most comforting to them. I remember when I was here for George and… Fred,” She stumbled over the name slightly but continued, “It was chimney smoke and Arthur’s cologne.” She sighed contentedly.

“Home,” I said simply. “It smells like home, to me.”

“Isn’t it lovely?” She said. “Now, let’s get you out of that dress and into something clean, shall we? That’s it.”

I leaned against her and George and was undressed and dressed again like I was an infant, myself. My pretty white dress ended up in a basket in the corner - hospital laundry, I presumed - and I found myself wrapped in a kimono of sorts, which was the color of sand and incredibly soft. I finally lay back against the pillows with a heavy sigh, feeling like the last thirty minutes had simultaneously been the most chaotic and the most drawn-out in my entire life. There were voices out in the hall.

“Who are they?” I asked George, and he left my side for a moment to poke his head through the doorway. In response to this, I heard several questions and exclamations and things along those lines from whoever happened to be out there, to which George just held up the universal ‘one moment’ sign and re-entered the room.

“Everyone.” He said, sitting on the edge of my bed. “Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, of course. Er, I saw Wood and Angelina and Katie and Alicia. And Neville and Luna. And Bill and Chalie and Fleur.” He thought for a moment and chuckled. “Really, just about everyone you or I has ever been friendly with. McGonagall is out there, too. With Hagrid!”

“Brilliant.” I sighed, throwing my head back against the pillows as another contraction rolled through me. “Merlin, those are awful.”

“They’re going to get a whole lot worse.”

I glanced up at the voice to see my mother standing in the doorway, hair askew, face dirty. My father was standing just behind her in much the same fashion. He, however, was glaring heartily at Lee, as if it had been his fault entirely for whatever mess they’d gotten into on their way over. Mrs. Weasley sniffed in distaste.

“Hi, Mum.” I said, and she came to stand at the foot of my bed. Dad followed her, and Lee stayed in the doorway, a highly amused look on his face. “Enjoy the Floo?”

“No.” Mum said shortly, successfully stopping the conversation dead in its tracks. George turned his head toward the wall and bit his lips to keep from smiling.

The one Healer who hadn’t slipped from the room approached from the fireplace side of the room, frightening-looking metal instrument in hand. Wizarding hospital or no, I could hazard a guess what she was planning on doing with it, and squeezed George’s hand in barely-masked terror.

“What is that?” Mum said exhaustedly.

“Maybe you and Dad should wait in the hall?” I suggested with a sigh, and they didn’t hesitate to dash out of the room, practically plowing Lee over as they went.

“You probably don’t want to be present for this either, Lee.” I said with a weak smile. “Hell, I don’t even want to be present for it, but, there we have it. I’m the one with the baby on its way out.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” He said, and disappeared.

“Right, let’s get this over with, then, yeah?” I said, and covered my eyes with my arm. George was staring resolutely at the wall, and even Mrs. Weasley seemed to be a little on edge, knowing what was to come.

Bloody fucking hell.



After several tests and observations and other things that I would never again willingly relive, it was determined that the baby was not yet ready to make an appearance. I settled back into my pillows to wait, but decided that I’d rather do so surrounded by the people I liked (who were all, at that point, sitting on uncomfortable chairs in an ugly hospital hallway) than sit there with four people who were probably just as bored as I was minus the contractions.

Everyone hesitated at first, but then Hermione and Ginny crept in, hands clasped in front of them. After them came Harry and Ron, looking more frightened than I’d ever seen them in my life.

“Harry, it’s just a baby. You took on Voldemort with no trouble, but you’re pissing your trousers over a baby? What am I going to do with you?” I’d said, and he’d smiled a little.

Everyone else filed in slowly and leaned against the walls or sat in different uncomfortable chairs (Hagrid crammed himself into the corner between the wall and the fireplace), and I really appreciated them all right then. And it wasn’t even that I had been incredible friends with most of them (actually, it was George who had been the popular one when we were in school. Maybe even more popular after he left because of the whole ‘fireworks’ thing, not to mention he was co-founder and owner of the most popular wizarding joke shop in all of England). It was rather that I enjoyed looking ‘round at all the smiling, laughing, chattering faces. I suddenly wished I’d thought to tell someone to bring some of the shower food with them; it would’ve made it seem like we’d just moved the party to another - admittedly, much smaller - venue.

Mr. Weasley did think, however, to arrive in the room with a tea trolley sometime that evening. His eyes twinkled as he passed around the cups and saucers, poured out the tea, and then settled down to resume discussing aeroplanes with my father. I sipped my Earl Grey and rested my head on George’s shoulder. He’d moved further onto my bed so that I was now only taking up half of it, not that I minded. He momentarily paused the conversation about Quidditch he’d been having with Lee and Oliver to turn his head and plant a kiss on my forehead.

The contractions had gotten noticeably stronger and closer together. They were difficult to ignore, but my tea made me feel quite drowsy, and I managed to doze between crests of pain, two or three minutes at a time.

There were a few times when I sleepily noticed people getting up to leave. Angelina, Katie, and Alicia left sometime around ten o’clock in the evening. Luna and Mr. Lovegood, Neville and his girlfriend (I regretted not catching her name), Professor McGonagall, Hagrid, Dean and Seamus, and all the others who had stayed much longer than I expected, trickled out gradually around midnight. Most of them shook George’s hand, some of them offered hugs, and a few offered pats on my shoulder which I acknowledged with a sleepy smile if I was awake enough to do so.

In the end, there were fourteen people in my room: George and myself, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Harry, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Charlie, Bill, Fleur, my parents, and Lee. There would’ve been sixteen, but Fleur’s parents had taken Victoire for the night, and Percy had left early because he had to work first thing in the morning. I slept against pillows and George’s shoulder while they sipped tea in the firelight until the wee hours of the morning.

Sometime around two o’clock, I woke with a surge of pain that I could only assimilate to being sawed in half. I sat up, choking for breath, attracting every pair of eyes in the room.

“Bloody hell.” George said weakly. His hands started to shake. I knew because I could hear his tea cup clattering on its saucer.

“I wish everyone would stop saying that.” I gasped, collapsing against my pillows again, anxiously awaiting the minute or two of relief before the next contraction reared its ugly head. The pause didn’t come. I stared at Mrs. Weasley in horror. “Why isn’t it stopping?”

She and my mother rushed to the side of my bed George wasn’t occupying. Mum took hold of my hand and felt my forehead.

“Mum, I know you mean well, but I haven’t got a fever.” I hissed through gritted teeth.

“It won’t be long now,” Mrs. Weasley said, her hands on my belly and her eyes far away like she was listening to something. Under her arms, I caught sight of Mr. Weasley, teacup and saucer in each hand, looking like a deer caught in the headlights over by the fire.

“Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley said briskly, “Go find the Healer. Quickly now, don’t dawdle. Arthur, dear, why don’t you and the boys go for another cup of tea, hm?”

“Right. Er, yes. Tea. Come on then, boys. Ron, Harry.” He nodded and stood up. “Bill, Charlie, you, too.”

“Not a chance, Dad.” Charlie shook his head. “I missed the birth of my first niece and Bill’s still taking the piss out of me. It’s not a mistake I’ll be making again soon.”

I let out a moan and clenched George’s hand so hard, he hissed in pain.

“I will, however, wait in the hall.” He said, and the ruddy, sun-burnt color drained out from behind his multitudes of freckles. Bill nodded, and the two of them disappeared through the doorway, tailed closely by my father. I looked up to see George eyeing the doorway himself.

“You’re not going anywhere.” I said, still clenching my teeth. “You’re the one that got me into this mess.” I tried to pry my jaw open enough to smile up at him. He seemed to know what my intention was, because he smiled weakly himself and leaned down so that his face was very close to mine.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He agreed, and laced his fingers through mine. “Do your worst.”

Ginny rushed back into the room with the Healer, cast a wide-eyed glance at me, then went to huddle by the fire with Hermione and Fleur. The three of them stood with their arms around each other, and I couldn’t tell which of the three looked closest to fits.

“For goodness’ sake,” I said, lifting my head to look at them. “Don’t be daft. You don’t have to stay.”

Hermione lifted her chin and said, “No, but you’re family, and I won’t be running off.”

“Don’t blame me if you decide not to have children, then.”

I let my head fall back and tried to ignore the Healer approaching with her god-awful metal instrument again. She lifted back the sheets and did things that I would never repeat because those with weak constitutions would probably faint, then took a step back and nodded.

“She’s ready.” She said. “She needs to sit up.”

“What?” I said weakly.

“You need to sit up a bit, Lacey, dear. Come on, now, we’ll help you.” She nodded at George and they slipped their hands behind my back, lifting me up and holding me there while my mother arranged pillows for me to lean on.

“Fucking hell,” I groaned. “This is even more bloody painful than lying down.”

“It won’t be for long,” The Healer said surely, “I’d say we’ll have a baby on our hands within the next half hour.”

I cast a terrified look up at George, whose jaw was set and who was also swallowing quite hard. He met my eyes and smiled a little. With the hand that wasn’t holding mine, he brushed a few strands of hair off my face and then brushed his fingers down the length of my arm.

“It’s just a baby, Lace.” He said with a chuckle, “You’ve done worse.”

As he was talking, my mother shunted Mrs. Weasley out of the way so that she could grasp my hand.

“I wish I had three.” I said, laughing and gasping in pain at the same time.

“It’s fine, dear.” Mrs. Weasley said, crossing behind the Healer to stand beside George. “That’s your mum’s job, anyway.”

Before I could respond, the Healer began to nod vigorously. “Yes, yes, it’s time. Right now. Lacey, we’re going to start pushing.”

George’s grip tightened on my hand and he grinned down at me. It was the sort of “split-your-entire-face-in-half” grin I’d known since the first time I’d met him, the kind that he often had before some sort of trouble-making adventure, the kind he always sported just before he usually said something along the lines of “Bloody brilliant”.

If there had been pain two minutes earlier, I couldn’t remember it. There was only this new, absolutely terrible feeling of being turned inside-out and pulled in a way that I could feel all the way up in the roots of my hair. My ears popped, sweat beaded on my forehead. I heard the sound of Fleur’s gasping, then she dropped completely out of my line of blurred sight.

“Bill, Fleur’s fainted.” Mrs. Weasley said, not taking her eyes off whatever was going on just beyond the swell of my belly.

“I’m not bloody coming in there.” I heard him call back, and then I was in the agony of pushing again. I suppose Fleur just lay there on the floor for a while.

“Get it OUT.” I heard myself growl, just when I thought I couldn’t take it. Every bone in my body felt shattered. I was going to die, there was no way around it. Something was going horribly wrong and I was going to die, I just knew it. “Get it OUT. George, I hate you. I really fucking hate you.”

“Come on.” He said, low, in my ear. “Come on, Lacey. Nearly there.”

“Twice more, now, only twice more.” The Healer said.

“Fuck me.” I hissed, and squeezed George’s hand so hard I swear I felt a pop. He didn’t seem fazed, he just kept staring down near the Healer’s hands at a point that I was rather glad I couldn’t see myself.

What felt like an eternity later, the unbearable pulling and crushing pressure coupled with a climax of the worst pain I’d ever felt in my life, subsided mid - push. I collapsed back against the pillows with a gasp, feeling like it was the first time I’d drawn oxygen in an unthinkable amount of time. For a minute, the only thing I could hear was the rushing of my own blood in my ears.

The Healer grinned up at me from over my much less swollen belly and held up the ugliest little mound of pink and grey flesh I’d ever seen. The thing gave a wail and I could’ve cried the same way just then because, oh, my God, that writhing little thing was my child, my perfect little child with ten tiny fingers and ten tinier toes and a scream that could probably be heard down the hall.

George lifted my hand to his lips and I could feel his own shaking. He leaned far down and put his forehead against mine, another large, lopsided grin spread across his face. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.

“And would Daddy like to cut the cord?” The Healer said and George pulled away.

“I - er… Yeah.” He said, and his hand slipped from my grip to be replaced by Mrs. Weasley’s. She had tears running down her face as she beamed down at me.

“You did beautifully.” She said, pressing her hand against my cheek. I leaned into the touch and smiled back at her, then turned my head to look for my own mother.

She was hunched against the side of the bed, wracked with silent sobs.

“Mum,” I said hoarsely, struggling to push myself up a bit higher and reaching out with both hands toward her. “Mum? What’s wrong?” It took her a moment to speak, so I sat there, staring into her screwed-up, tear-covered face with worry.

“I’m… Just… So… Proud.” She finally said between great heaving breaths.

At the sound of the words, I collapsed back against my pillows and cried myself silly for a minute or two. I didn’t even see George cut the baby’s cord, which I could’ve kicked myself for later. Soon, his hand was back in mine, and the Healer was approaching with the writhing little bit of both myself and George that I couldn’t wait to get my hands on. She placed it in my arms and I was at an utter loss for words.

It was a boy. I studied him from head to toe for what felt like ages, noting the weeniest finger nails I had ever seen in my life and the curves that made up his legs and round little belly. His hair stood on end and fell into a point onto his perfect forehead (which looked like George’s, since I was thinking about it), and of course it was the most vivid shade of orange. He stared up at me silently, his eyes blue and wide with thoughts that had to be the newborn equivalent to “What the bloody hell has just happened, here”.

I tucked the corner of my blanket around him and pressed my lips to his forehead. George kissed me and then his son and stood, bent over and staring, for quite a long time. I couldn’t take my eyes off his face and when he finally looked at me, I grinned.

“I guess we really are grown ups now, then. No going back.” I said. "And I don't actually hate you." He laughed a full, round laugh and shook his head.

“We’re bloody parents, now.” He said incredulously, and stared back down at his son, who was still looking quite perplexed.

“And, since you’re a parent, you’d better watch your language, George Weasley.” Mrs. Weasley said, wagging a finger at him. George chuckled but otherwise ignored her.

“And what will you be naming him?” the Healer said, arms full of towels and scroll of parchment and quill suspended in the air just to the left of her head.

“Oh, er…” George said, glancing down at me, clearly realizing, just as I was, that we hadn’t really thought about it.

But, as I looked up at him, it became clearer than I could’ve imagined, and I couldn’t think how any other name might’ve crossed my mind or how either of us could’ve hesitated in the slightest.

“Fred.” I said surely, nodding once. “Frederick -”

“Arthur,” George said, grinning a little. Mrs. Weasley had started crying again.

“Weasley.” I finished, suddenly feeling more tired than I ever had in my life, and it wasn’t even because I’d just given birth to what had to be the most flawless child in the history of mankind. No, that wasn’t it at all (though it had been no mean feat). It felt more like something which had been hanging over our heads had settled into place. There was a certain sense of finality, like everything had finally come full circle like we’d all been waiting for.

Life had been a little… Off without a Fred in the picture. Now that there was one again - though this one was a bit smaller and had my nose - everything felt almost right with the world. Granted, the world wasn’t perfect (it never would be and waiting for such a thing to happen would be idiocy at its worst). But, it seemed to be more comfortable because the empty place at the Christmas dinner-table had been filled, and it would be okay for everyone to say “Fred and George” again. I felt like my heart was going to explode, and I lowered my face and cried myself silly again into Little Fred’s hair.

I felt the bridge of George’s nose against my cheekbone and then his arms around my shoulders and I thought that anything in the world could happen - bombs could go off, Voldemort could return from the dead, the sun could bloody explode, and as long as I had the two of them; as long as I had Fred and George, I’d be fine with it.