Five and a Half Years Later: One Cold Night In February (2/2)
Title: Five and a Half Years Later: One Cold Night In February (2/2)
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Deathly Hallows & Previous Chapters
Characters: H/G, R/Hr, N/L, and many others
Rating: Hard R for language, nudity, and sex
Summary: Neville and Luna get interrupted
Notes: This one was fun to write. The whole world of post-DH Potterverse is growing beneath my fingers. Which sounds naughty. I don’t own most of these characters, although most of the new Hogwarts professors are my own. Everyone else belongs to JK Rowling.
EXTRA NOTE: The Book mentioned at the end of the chapter was NOT my idea. Rowling mentioned it herself in an interview in 2000. The Transcript Is Here.
One Cold Night In February (1/2) / Previous Chapters / The Social Event of The Year
Neville stepped out into a giant Floo station, with a dozen fireplaces lining the walls of an otherwise white room. Luna stood patiently waiting for him, and together they walked down the hall, where it split into two different directions, a sign hanging between the two:
<--St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
St Mungo’s Clinic for Checkups, Childbirth, and Therapies-->
They took the right hall, which lead to another small room. Three gated elevators sat waiting for them with their doors open.
“It’s kind of quiet, isn’t it?” asked Neville.
“It’s almost eleven,” said Luna as the elevator gate closed and moved down to the lower levels of the hospital. “Most of the visitors have gone for the night, it will only be staff and emergency patients.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Neville quietly. The only times he had ever come to Mungo’s was during daylight hours, when Gran had taken him to the clinic for checkups or when he was seeing his parents in the hospital across the street. He briefly thought that he should visit them while he was here, and then realized that, even if he could be allowed in at this time of night, the two of them were probably asleep.
“Do you want to meet my parents sometime?” he asked suddenly, surprising even himself as he asked the question, and quickly backpedaled. “I mean, I know it might be odd, and if you’re not comfortable with it, you can just…”
“That would be nice,” said Luna, who had learned about Neville’s mother and father during Neville’s seventh year. She was still the only one who he had ever outright told, as Harry and the others had come across them by accident. And it wasn’t that Neville was ashamed of them, far from it. He just…
Luna seemed to recognize Neville’s discomfort, and closed her hand over his as the elevator doors opened.
“Third floor,” a polite female voice said overhead. “Childbirth and children’s services.” The two stepped out of the elevator and into a small darkened waiting room. A night-shift nurse sat at a desk, idly scratching a number puzzle beneath a floating glowing ball. As she heard their footsteps, she looked up.
“Visiting hours are eight to five,” she said in a tired-sounding, droning voice. “If this is an emergency, please return to the ground floor and make your way to the Magical Maladies hospital, if you believe that you’re pregnant, here’s a pamphlet that teaches you the pregnancy test spells and someone will speak to you in the morning.” She pulled out a pink flyer, a giggling cartoon baby bouncing across the front and the words So You Think You Might Be Preggers? written across the top.
“We’re here to see Ginevra Potter,” said Luna as Neville reflexively took the flyer from the nurse’s hand.
The nurse stared at the couple, her narrowed eyes darting up to the tops of their heads. “Are you family?” she asked darkly, recognizing that neither of them had red hair.
“No, we’re her friends,” said Neville. “We received an owl.”
“Family only,” said the nurse, returning to her puzzle.
“But…”
“Family only,” the nurse repeated more forcefully as a small ding emanated from the elevators behind them.
“They’re fine, Maude,” came a voice from the opening elevator doors. “They’re not press.”
Neville and Luna turned around to see Charlie and Penelope Weasley stepping out of the elevator, both with numerous paper sacks nestled in their arms.
“Are you sure?” the nurse, Maude, said warily. “They might be Polyjuiced media.”
“Luna,” Charlie sighed. “What’s Ginny’s Patronus?”
“A horse,” Luna replied.
“They’re fine,” Charlie repeated.
“Follow these two,” Maude said, relenting. “Family’s in the third door on your right.”
“Thank you,” said Luna as the four left the waiting room and walked down the hall.
“Sorry about all that,” said Charlie. “They’re kind of dying down, but there have been three or four of the gossip column types that have tried to squeeze their way through already.”
“Do you two need help carrying… whatever it is you’re carrying?” Neville asked.
“McDonald’s,” said Penelope, bending over so Neville and Luna could take a bag each from her and from Charlie. Neville could see a slight bulge beneath her arms, and he wasn’t sure if Penelope had put on weight, or if she was expecting herself. “Some Muggle place. The cafeteria was closed, we were all getting hungry, and it was the only thing open this late within walking distance.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Personally?” said Penelope. “About two or three hours. Ginny’s water broke about ten hours ago, so we’ve been trickling in ever since.”
“No pun intended,” said Charlie.
“No pun even thought of,” Penelope replied. “That’s disgusting.”
“You take after your husband too much,” Charlie chuckled as they entered the family waiting room. The first thing they saw was George, Verity, and Hermione Weasley bent over a small table, feathered quills moving as they wrote on small parchments of paper. To their right, Ron and Bill were slouched over a game of Wizard Chess, their eyes drooping as though this probably wasn’t their first round. On Neville’s left, Arthur sat calmly, sipping a tea and reading a copy of Popular Mechanics while Petunia Evans nervously paced back and forth.
“Hey, kids,” George Weasley said, looking up. “Grab a quill, they set us to work.”
“Work doing what?” Neville asked as they stepped into the room.
“Writing announcements,” said Verity, leaning over the table beside her husband and writing on a small piece of parchment. “You don’t really have to help, though, we’re almost done.”
“Well, the hard part’s almost done, anyway,” George corrected. “The name’s still blank till we hear boy or girl. So’s the birth date, in case this party goes to the wee small hours.”
“Either way, they can’t do much,” said Hermione. “We’ll have to be the ones to write those in, or else it’ll all look sloppy.”
George stared down at the page in front of him, and dropped his quill. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “How’d I get roped into this again?”
“I’m hauling them to the owls because my handwriting looks like chicken scratch,” said Ron. “Knight to E7.”
“So does mine,” Bill agreed. “And since I get too many odd looks going out into Muggle public, the two calligraphers here got to go get the food. Which left you. Bishop to D5.”
“Glad you two made it,” said Hermione, standing up to hug Neville and Luna.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Neville.
“So I take it Pig and Artie found you two okay?” asked Ron.
“Pig?” gaped Neville. “You sent out Pigwidgeon, too? In this weather?”
“He’s tougher than he looks,” said Ron defensively. “You mean he didn’t get to Hogwarts? I sent Pig to Neville and Artie to Luna before we left.”
“We only received Artemisia,” said Luna. “I was at Neville’s when she arrived.”
“You were? Neville, aren’t you supposed to be at school?”
“I took the night off,” Neville shrugged. “Clavis is taking my post, I’m supposed to head back tomorrow morning.”
“Uriela Clavis?” asked Penelope, dropping her sacks on the table and sitting down beside Verity.
“That’s her.”
“What’s she doing up there?”
“She’s the new Ancient Runes professor,” Neville explained, which caused Hermione to start.
“She is?” Hermione asked as she sat back down. “Is she any good? I mean, Professor Babbling was excellent, it was a shame she had to retire, and I hope this woman knows what she’s doing.”
“She’s doing fine,” said Neville.
“I just hope it’s in good hands,” she continued, Luna sitting next to her. “It was my favorite subject.”
“I thought Arithmancy was your favorite subject?” asked Neville.
“This is Hermione you’re talking to,” said Ron as he stood up to pull a hamburger from one of the sacks. “They were all her favorite subjects.”
“Uriela’s good,” Penelope answered, trying to alleviate Hermione’s concern. “She was top marks in our year for Runes, and was behind me in line for Head Girl. They couldn’t have picked a better professor for the job. Tell her I say hi,” she added to Neville, who nodded in consent.
“So you were at Neville’s when Artemisia found you?” Hermione asked Luna.
“Yes, I was,” Luna said. “Can I have some chips?”
“Knock yourself out,” said George, pushing one of the sacks towards her.
“And that would explain why you’re wearing his shirt?” Hermione whispered with a small smile.
“Of course,” said Luna. “It was the only thing I was wearing when we were having sex, and I didn’t feel like changing when Artemisia arrived.”
Arthur choked on his tea, and Petunia stopped in mid-pace.
”Someone have their wand handy?” asked George quietly. “I need to be Obliviated.”
“Hermione, how many times have we talked about this?” said Ron. “Never ask Luna anything unless you really want to hear the answer.”
“I don’t think she was offended,” said Luna to Ron. “As I told Neville, you and Hermione have had sex in the kitchen many times, so it’s not anything that Artemisia hasn’t seen.”
“Wand!” George yelled. “Somebody! Now!” Bill, Charlie, and Verity burst into laughter.
“Sorry, Dad,” said Ron, blushing furiously, as he realized that Arthur’s tea had completely soaked his shirt.
“No, no, it’s fine,” said Arthur, pulling his wand from his pocket and siphoning it off. “You’re adults, you’re married, what you do with your own time is your business.”
“Oh, thank God,” said George at the sight of the wand. “Dad, clean me out, I don’t need to remember the last five minutes.”
“Does she always talk like that?” Petunia asked Penelope.
“Usually,” Penelope replied. “Made for some interesting conversations when I had to be her prefect.”
“Just don’t tell your mother,” Arthur continued. “I’m sure she could live with it, but she probably wouldn’t be over for dinner until she gave your kitchen a week-long scrubbing.”
“Where is Mrs. Weasley?” Neville asked. “Molly, I mean?” he corrected as he realized that he was in a room with three other Mrs. Weasleys.
“In the delivery room with Ginny and Harry,” said Arthur. “She was the only one home when Harry sent Kreacher to the Burrow, and she was here even before the ambulance arrived. I’ve barely even spoken to her except when she comes out to give us updates. It’s Ginny’s first, she wants her Mum there with her.”
“Ambulance?” asked Neville. “Was something wrong? Didn’t Harry drive her?”
“He couldn’t,” explained Hermione. “They don’t have a car, since they haven’t found anywhere to park it in a Muggle neighborhood without attracting attention. And Healers recommend that pregnant women avoid any sort of teleportation, like Apparition, Floo Network, or Portkey. So that left the ambulance.”
“I still think she should get a midwife for the next one, if there is a next one,” said Penelope. “It would make things so much easier in her neighborhood.”
“So when did you get here?” Luna asked Arthur. “You were at work?”
“We both were,” said Petunia.
“Molly sent Kreacher to the Ministry,” Arthur continued. “And I called Petunia on her… what is it called again?”
Mobile phone,” Petunia answered. “It doesn’t work in here, though.”
“Marvelous device,” Arthur said jovially. “Simply magnificent. Anyway, I called her before I Flooed the children. Hermione works on my floor, so I grabbed her, and we came from there.”
“This room’s been pretty much Party Central ever since,” said George. “I shut down the shop early, and Dad, Hermione, and Ms. Evans were already here when Ron, Verity, and I showed up. Fleur and Victoire were here for a while before Bill got off work. So were Andromeda and Teddy. But it was getting late for the tots, so they went home a few hours ago.”
“Dudley and Susan were both here for a bit, too,” said Hermione. “So was Percy, but they all have work in the morning.”
“And they all got the same grilling from the night watch that you two got,” said Charlie to Neville and Luna. “So don’t feel too bad about it.”
“What about you?” Neville asked Charlie. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Romania?”
“I didn’t think I’d be able to get here until tomorrow,” Charlie admitted. “But I got lucky, someone cancelled their Portkey ticket late. I got in about two hours ago.”
“And she’s been in there for ten hours?”
“More or less,” said Arthur. “But Molly came out about two hours ago and said Ginny was close to fully dilated. So it shouldn’t be too much longer.”
“I do have to say that you’re really calm about all of this,” Neville said, impressed.
“Are you kidding?” Arthur chuckled. “I’m a wreck. I feel as anxious as Petunia looks.”
“What a sweet thing for you to say,” Petunia said with a roll of her eyes.
“Sit down, Petunia,” said Arthur. “You’re wearing a track in the carpeting.”
“Lilly and James aren’t here,” Petunia insisted. “I’m allowed to be nervous for both of them.”
“I’m sure they appreciate the effort,” said George. “In the meantime, have a chicken sandwich, you’re making me dizzy.”
Petunia, who usually looked at anything as greasy as McDonald’s with a sneer, relented, walking over to the table and pulling out a yellow-wrapped sandwich.
“It’s my little girl,” said Arthur to Neville and Luna. “Of course I’m nervous. But this isn’t the first Weasley grandchild, and it’s not going to be the last.” At this, he flipped his thumb to Penelope, who smiled softly. “So I’m trying to keep my wits about me, and hope it gets easier every time.”
“Congratulations,” said Luna to Penelope. “How far along are you?”
“About five months,” Penelope replied.
“You know Uriela’s going to go ballistic when I tell her, right?” said Neville.
“I’m sure she will,” said Penelope, snorting laughter. “I’ll send her an owl, the baby should be around by the time the school year’s over.”
“Checkmate,” said Ron, cackling triumphantly as his bishop knocked Bill’s rook clear across the room. It rebounded against the wall with a tiny grunt, bounced off of the chair beneath it, and fell to the ground, where it proceeded to sprout legs from the bottom of its tower and wander back to the rest of its pieces.
Bill sighed, rubbing his scarred face with his hands in weariness. “What’s the tally now?”
“I’m up five games to two,” said Ron. “I am invincible.”
“Oh, bollocks,” Bill sighed. “Anyone else want to take this fucking machine on? My brain’s shot.”
“What time is it, anyway?” asked Verity, yawning.
“Quarter to twelve,” said Petunia, pulling up her sleeve to read her watch.
“Quarter to midnight,” George muttered, sliding down in his chair as Verity’s head dropped onto his shoulder. “Sis better get her push on if she wants this baby born before the seventh.”
“The baby will come when it comes,” said Arthur. “It won’t be any less of a baby if it’s born tomorrow.”
“There will be some discomfort,” the Healer had said to Harry and Ginny. It had been the day after the Quidditch match versus Vratsa. Ginny’s bones had been removed and regrown overnight, and the couple decided that they might as well get their first Healer visit for the pregnancy out of the way before they left St. Mungo’s.
“I thought magic would be able to take most of the labor pains away,” Harry had said.
“Well, it does do a better job than Muggle drugs,” the Healer continued. “The chemicals that they toss into their mothers make me more than a little nervous. We use some spells, we use some potions. But we try to limit them as much as possible.”
“Why’s that?”
“For the health and safety of the mother and the baby,” the Healer replied. “We have good Healers in this hospital, don’t get me wrong. But childbirth is stressful for everyone involved. One imperfectly-cast spell, one potion that’s stirred three times instead of four, could put everyone in a lot of danger. There are some times where we’ll take a risk to use difficult magic. But putting a mother’s life in jeopardy simply to alleviate some pain is not one of those risks.
“Besides, pain exists for a reason. We need to know if there are any complications during the birth. And any abnormal pains will be a signal that wouldn’t be there if Ginevra was completely numb.”
Ginny nodded in understanding. “I don’t want any more magic than I have to,” she said. “I’ve put up with a lot of pain.”
“I would say that you’ve put up with more than most women your age, Mrs. Potter,” said the Healer, glancing down at her arm, which would still remain in a sling for the next few days as the muscles re-attached themselves to bone and ligament. “I think you’ll do just fine.”
Just a little discomfort? Harry thought now as Ginny squeezed his hand in a vice grip. Was he fucking kidding?
“I can see the head,” the Healer was now saying from behind the sheet that covered Ginny’s legs and midsection.
“Oh, God, I can’t do this anymore,” Ginny whispered from beside him. Her red hair, slick with sweat, was hanging limply around her cheeks, and her entire face was red with exertion. “I can’t… I can’t…”
“You can, dear,” said Molly from her other side. “You’re almost there. Just a few more pushes, alright?”
“I can’t push anymore,” Ginny moaned. “I can’t… Mummy, it hurts…”
“It’s almost over,” said Harry, wishing that he could do something more to help, anything to stop Ginny from hurting. Instead he wiped the sweat from her forehead with a rag that was already sopping. “Just a little more.”
“You’re doing wonderfully, luv,” said the Healer from between Ginny’s legs. “Just a few more.”
“I can’t… Harry, I can’t…”
“You can,” Harry insisted, squeezing her hand tight. “I love you. You’re so strong. I know you are. Just a little more.”
“Just make it come out,” Ginny begged. “I’ll do anything. Someone… someone use a wand and make it come out…”
“A few more,” Harry said, trying to smile. “A few more pushes, then I’ll get my wand, okay?”
“A few more?”
“A few more,” said Harry. “I promise.”
Ginny squeezed her eyes tight and bore down, screaming out as she pushed.
“Is it out?” she pleaded after her push subsided.
“Not yet,” said the Healer. “It’s close, though. One more good push should do it.”
“I can’t do one more…”
“Yes, you can,” said her mother. “You have one more in you, you’re squeezing my hand so tight, put it down there instead.”
“You can do one more,” Harry agreed. “I know you can.”
“I can do one more,” Ginny panted.
“One more and you’re done,” said the Healer.
Ginny squeezed Harry’s hand again.
And gave it one more.
Professor Filius Flitwick’s bedroom, like every other professor's bedroom, was attached to the classroom in which he taught. He pulled himself out of his bed and took his wand that night for the same reason that he pulled himself out of his bed and took his wand every night. He was an old man. And old men have pissy bladders.
Pun completely intended.
“Lumos,” he muttered in his squeaky voice, and the tip of his wand lit up. He worked his way across the bedroom, completely accepting of the fact that his short legs got him to his destination so much slower than if he were normal height. But just because he accepted it didn’t have to mean that he liked it.
One of these nights I’m not going to make it, he admitted. And I just know it’s going to be a night where some student decides to wander the halls after hours and catches the old man with soggy knickers.
He supposed he could get a bedpan. But he hated those when he was growing up. They were convenient, but the smell was horrible, and he never really wanted to know where an Evanesco might put his leavings.
He could always ask Tiberius about moving his classroom somewhere closer to a bathroom. The room they had been using for Firenze’s Divination class might be suitable.
Or you could just follow Minerva’s lead, another part of his mind answered. And Bathsheba’s. You could pay attention to the glimmer in Horace’s eye whenever he talks about the years before he came back. Hell, Filius, you taught Pomona when she was a student here, for God’s sake. And she’s moved on, same as the others.
You’re not a young man. You knew it during the first war. You definitely knew it during the second war, and especially during the final battle. And you’re seeing all of these young people, people who you remember from when they were eleven and waiting to be sorted, coming in to teach the new generation.
Maybe it’s time to step aside and let someone else enter the picture. Let someone new Charm them.
As he stepped into his classroom, he heard a soft thump that nearly startled him the piss out of him (pun intended, once again, he thought). It was one he only heard fifteen or sixteen times during the course of a year, but if it didn’t happen in the daylight, then it happened when he was asleep. This was the first time that he was awake when it sounded at… almost midnight, said the clock on the wall over his desk.
The thump came from an otherwise unused closet next to the chalkboard. No one ever questioned when the noise came during a class. There were so many odd sounds, so many strange disturbances during the course of a day that something like that was barely noticed, even by him.
Curiosity got the better of Filius, however. Bladder temporarily forgotten, he walked over to the closet and opened the door.
There, on a small wooden pedestal, sat a book. One in a series that Filius had been charged with since he assumed the role of Deputy Headmaster in 1998, this one, titled September 2014-August 2015, had replaced its predecessor just last month. September 2013-August 2014 had been moved into the Hogwarts library until the time when it would be needed.
This latest chapter had opened to the page labeled February 6th, 2015. The magical quill, enchanted to respond whenever someone of magical ability was brought into the world, was poised to mark that child’s eleventh birthday.
Flitwick stepped closer and watched as the name was scribbled onto the page.
James Arthur Potter
Hogwarts professors weren’t allowed to pick favorites. The pursuit of education demanded that all students be treated as equal, their accomplishments and their defeats no more or less significant than those of their peers.
Exceptions happened, of course. Teachers are ruled by their emotions as much as by their doctrine.
Therefore, while he had looked at this book many times in the six years he had been appointed Deputy, Flitwick allowed himself a smile and a nod as he read the name.
After all, he thought. It’s not like I’ll be teaching him.
“Congratulations, children,” he said quietly, patting the page before the book closed again, to be opened when another wizard or witch came into being. “Congratulations.”
One Cold Night In February (1/2) / Previous Chapters / The Social Event of The Year