Work Text:
People had criticized them over and over. Most frequently, because they were in the middle of a war. Sometimes, because they were both so young. Whatever the reason, they'd gotten judgement from almost every quarter for eight months.
And yet, neither of them had ever once regretted it.
Even now, as she lay sweaty and exhausted on a bed in St. Mungo's, trying to catch her breath in between contractions, she couldn't say it wasn't worth it. He'd held her hand since the moment he'd been let off duty – not even bothering to change out of his work robes before coming to be at her side. She'd done nothing but crush his fingers for the last two hours and he hadn't complained once.
Well, he had complained, but it was all on her behalf. He had nearly all the Healer's assistants on the floor catering to her every need, and she couldn't find it within her to stop him from harassing them.
"Do you need anything?" he asked her now.
She shook her head wearily. "Not unless you can speed things up a bit."
"The contractions are getting closer together," he said, glancing at the Tempus charm one of the Healers had set up to monitor exactly that.
The time read one minute, thirty seconds. When she'd first come in it had been at three minutes and had crept down from there agonizingly slowly. She had been feeling the contractions since yesterday, but she hadn't told him that. At first, she hadn't been sure they were real ones. It wasn't until after he'd left for work this morning that she realized they were becoming rather regular, and closer together with each passing hour.
The realization that her labor had really begun had frightened her at first – this was the culmination of nine months of waiting, and although she had been calm and collected about it before, she was suddenly swamped by a wave of fear that something or everything would go wrong.
She finally forced those thoughts out of her mind by distracting herself. First, she cleaned the living room. Then the bedroom, the bathroom, the room that would be the new baby's when he was old enough for it, and then, when the contractions were about twelve minutes apart, the kitchen.
That had probably been a bad idea, because the cleaning distracted her so thoroughly that she missed how close the contractions were getting, and they were well below five minutes when she realized she had better grab the bag she'd had packed for the last few weeks for this very occasion and take the Floo to St. Mungo's.
Her arrival had set the Healers into a flurry of action, but once she was settled in a bed, it turned out there was nothing to do but hurry up and wait. And wait… and wait.
Her husband was the only one allowed in the room with her, but she knew her mother and both his parents would be out in the waiting area, and probably all of their friends as well. St. Mungo's definitely wouldn't be happy about the crowd, but who could blame them all for wanting to be here?
After all, she thought as another contraction gripped her, it was the middle of the war. With how long it had dragged on, and the losses they had faced, it was easy to forget that they hadn't lost yet. They all needed something to celebrate; something to remind them that they were all still alive.
They hadn't planned it. Neither of them had ever forgotten a contraceptive spell, but she supposed that at some point, they had waited just a little too long to renew the charms. She could have taken a potion, once she knew, and ended it then, but the moment she had thought of it she'd nearly thrown up at the idea. In only the first minute of her knowing of it, that microscopic life that was growing inside of her had given her such a feeling of hope that she couldn't fathom getting rid of it. When she'd told her husband, she knew he'd felt the same way by how he knelt and lavished kisses on her still-flat belly.
He was doing so now, too, as she recovered from the contraction, pressing his lips softly against her skin and murmuring encouragement to the baby.
"Hey," she said, "pretty sure I'm the one doing the work here."
His head turned and he grinned up at her, opening his mouth to say something which probably would have been teasing and made her laugh, but just then she gasped as another contraction hit unexpectedly soon, and the smile dropped off his face.
The numbers of the Tempus charm turned red, and moments later a Healer and her assistants rushed in.
The next twenty minutes were a blur: push, stretch, breathe, squeeze, and pushing again. She thought it would go on forever, but at last there was a high, unmistakable cry.
"You did it, Lils – you did it, he's here." James' voice cracked as he spoke, and she looked down, to where the Healer was cleaning up their son. The sight abruptly brought tears of joy to her eyes, and although her throat was too tight to speak, she squeezed her James' hand – gently, this time.
The Healer was quick, and it was only moments later that their son was in her arms.
"He's beautiful," Lily whispered, even though he was the ugliest, reddest, wrinkliest newborn she'd ever seen.
"You did good," James said, dropping a kiss on her head and carefully reaching out to stroke their son's head.
She could have stared at him nestled in her arms forever, but the outside world soon intruded as their friends and family were finally allowed in to chorus their congratulations.
"Well, what's my godson's name?" Sirius' voice rose above the rest.
Lily glanced at James. "Go ahead," he said, with a laugh. "I guess they've waited long enough."
"Everyone," she said, "meet our son: Harry James Potter."