Making Mistakes

little_bird

Story Summary:
The events leading to the birth of Albus Severus Potter.

Chapter 10 - Sufficient Unto the Day

Posted:
11/22/2008
Hits:
1,256


'James, please...' Ginny struggled to put a nappy on James. He hadn't let her dry him completely after his bath, so he was still a bit slippery. James squirmed on the changing table as Ginny attempted to pin the nappy around his round belly. He rolled over and the pin Ginny was attempting to fasten slipped and jabbed into James' chubby leg.

James began to wail and, horrified, Ginny snatched him up, the half-fastened nappy sliding to the table's surface. She held him tightly to her, as best she could, given the increasing girth around the middle. 'I'm sorry, sweetie! Mummy didn't mean to do that,' she sniffed into James' hair.

'What's the matter?' Molly came into the room, tying the sash of her dressing gown.

'Nothing,' Ginny said irritably, checking the top of James' leg to see if he needed any kind of medical attention.

James pushed away from Ginny, nearly flipping backwards out of her arms. 'Dahdee!' he whined. 'Wan' Dahdee!'

Molly held out her arms. 'Here, let me take him.'

'I've got him, Mum,' Ginny sighed.

Molly's hands tightened on James. 'Ginny, dear, you look all done in. Let me put him to bed.'

James twisted frantically, trying to get away. 'Nooooo. Wan' Dahdee,' he moaned.

'Mum, it's fine,' Ginny said tightly, the back of her neck going red.

'Ginny, would you just let me -' Molly's voice was cut off by a pair of hands reaching between her and Ginny.

Arthur plucked James from Ginny and Molly's grasp. James went limp in his grandfather's arms, rubbing his face in the soft, worn flannel of Arthur's pajama top. Arthur turned to Molly and Ginny. 'I'll put James to bed.' He laid James on the table and expertly wrapped the clean nappy around James, deftly pinning it one-handed. 'Like riding a broomstick,' he crooned to his grandson.

Ginny's shoulders slumped in defeat. She wordlessly followed Molly out of the Bill's room and into the landing. Molly put a hand on Ginny's shoulder. 'Ginny...'

'Not now, Mum, all right?' Ginny plodded slowly up the stairs to the bathroom. Ginny really didn't want to hear what ever it was Molly was going to say. She was going to feel like a failure either way.

Ginny turned on the taps in the bathtub and carefully stepped into the tub. She ached all over. Her feet were swollen, her back hurt, and Harry still hadn't come home. He had been gone for more than two weeks. She missed Harry terribly. So did James. After standing under the shower spray a few minutes, doing nothing, Ginny picked up a bar of soap, holding it to her nose for a moment, inhaling the aroma of sandalwood. She had gone back to the house a few days after Harry had left and slipped into their bathroom and stuffed a few bars of his soap into her bag. It was a poor substitute, but it was better than nothing.

Tonight, Ginny took a leaf from her husband's book and drew her shower out as long as possible. It was a way for her to avoid Molly and the inevitable 'you're-doing-a-wonderful-job' conversation. Ginny didn't want to hear it. Again.

When her fingers began to wrinkle, Ginny turned off the shower, awkwardly dried herself, and shrugged on her dressing gown. She went into her bedroom, only to find Molly sitting on the edge of her bed. 'Mum, I'm really tired.'

'I'm sorry,' Molly said abruptly. 'For acting like that, trying to take over with James.' Molly twisted the end of her dressing gown's sash. 'I don't like seeing any of my children... Struggle like you've been doing.' When Ginny opened her mouth to protest, Molly shrugged. 'I'm your mother, Ginny, and no matter how old you are, I'll always try to make it better for you.'

'I don't...' Ginny slumped next to Molly. 'I don't want you to make it better. I don't want you to think I can't do this on my own,' she said stubbornly.

'I know you can handle James. And everything else you're dealing with right now. That doesn't mean you can't ask for help.'

Ginny slid off the bed, and picked up her nightdress. 'I don't want to need to ask for help.' She looked at Molly. 'I've a long day tomorrow, Mum. Good night,' she said, in firm, but polite dismissal.

Molly stood up and brushed the hair from Ginny's face. 'Good night, Ginny.'

After Molly left the room, Ginny pulled the nightdress over her head, and crawled into bed. She looked at the stack of books on the night table with a sigh and picked up her knitting. She wasn't sleeping well lately. It was hard to sleep without Harry anymore. And when she did, she dreamed of being alone. This baby was also much more active at night than James had been. Bun slept all day, and ran marathons all night.

Ginny looked at the deep crimson yarn in her hands. She had started making a scarf for Harry for Christmas. She wondered if it was tempting fate a bit.

*****

Harry knew he was dreaming. The Ginny he saw had long hair. Down to the middle of her back. He could touch it. The coppery ripples slid through his fingers and flashed in the afternoon sunlight, before spreading over her bare back. She looked at him, a smile on her face, before she dove into the river.

Harry watched her swim lazily, parallel to the riverbank, where he sat on an elderly blanket. 'Come on,' she said. 'I won't let you drown.'

Harry gingerly eased himself into the water, reminding himself that he had swum to the depths of the Black Lake at school. But he credited gillyweed for most of that ability. He could feel the current tug at his waist. Ginny floated on her back, her hair a sunburst of red drifting in the current. He squinted dubiously at the scraps of fabric she called a swimming suit. He liked the bikini well enough, but not where other people could see it.

Harry bent his knees until he was in the water up to his neck. He lifted his feet, and spread out his arms, mimicking Ginny's floating position. His fingers brushed against hers, and Harry closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling of freedom.

*****

Harry's eyes flew open. The palm of his hand was stinging. That was what had awakened him. He uncurled his hand from around the picture frame. Harry had gripped it so tightly, the corner cut into the skin over the life line. He made a moue of distaste at the idea of what Professor Trelawney might have said. He rubbed his other hand over his face. That dream had been in the one part of the River Otter they could swim without being swarmed by the press before Ginny's seventh year. Ginny had cajoled him into going swimming with her a few times, despite his protests he didn't really know how. She had taught him with the same ease he had taught her how to defend herself his fifth year.

Harry glanced impatiently down his body. Stop it! he thought. She's not here. He snorted at himself. Ginny didn't have to be here for his body to react that way. He sat up carefully, and swung his legs to the floor. Harry pulled his wand out from under his pillow and aimed it at the windows. All of them flew open silently, and cold air rushed into the scullery, chilling his flushed skin. He looked down at his hand, and considered and rejected healing it magically. For some reason he couldn't, and didn't, want to define, Harry left the cut alone. It was deep enough to leave a scar.

Harry set the framed photograph on the deep windowsill next to the camp bed and curled on his side, consciously aping his favorite pose to sleep, spooning Ginny. His free hand curved in front of him, trying to approximate how big she had gotten. This one was every bit as special to Harry has James' birth had been, and he silently cursed the witch he was charged with finding. She had caused far too much havoc in his relatively short life.

*****

Harry opened the door of the house. He could hear James crying and began to run up the stairs, but no matter how fast he ran, the stairs leading up to the upper story grew longer and longer. Harry could feel a sense of apprehension growing in his stomach. It wasn't like Ginny to just let James cry like that. 'Ginny!' Harry stopped running, clutching the banister, as he panted, trying to catch his breath. James' cries grew increasingly frantic and Harry began to try to run up the stairs once more.

After what seemed like miles of stairs, Harry burst through the door where James sat in the middle of his cot. Harry picked him up and cautiously went back out on the landing, patting James on the back. 'Where's Mummy, eh?' he asked his whimpering son. James didn't answer, but hid his face in Harry's shoulder.

Harry began to look through each room. They were eerily silent and still. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he shifted James to one hip, pulling his wand from his pocket. 'Hominum revelio,' he muttered, but nothing happened. Harry slowly went back to the ground floor, his arm instinctively tightening around James. 'I don't like this,' he told his son. Harry went into the kitchen.

He saw a flutter of parchment on the table.

'Wingardium leviosa,' he said, flicking his wand at it, and the parchment rose gracefully off the table. Keeping his wand trained on the now-floating parchment, Harry stepped closer to examine it.

The blood drained from his face when he saw the too-familiar cut-out magazine letters.

*****

Harry sat up, drenched in a cold sweat, panting. He shoved his glasses on his face and began to take slow, deep breaths. This is why Aurors shouldn't work on cases this close to home, he told himself. Shivering slightly, Harry reached for an old sweatshirt hanging on a hook and pulled it over his head. He picked up his watch from the windowsill and looked at the time. It was only four in the morning. Shrugging, he slid off the camp bed and eased the door of the scullery open, and padded into the kitchen. He stopped short in the doorway. Iain was already sitting at the table, a large mug of steaming tea in front of him. Iain looked up, surprised, then Summoned a mug from the cupboard. He filled it with tea, and pushed it toward an empty chair at the table. Harry accepted it gratefully. He looked at Iain over the rim of the mug. 'You don't sleep much do you?'

Iain chuckled quietly, and took a sip of his own tea. 'No. But I never had unfinished homework in school.' He wrapped his hands around the mug and gave Harry a searching look. 'Doesn't seem like you sleep much, either,' he commented casually.

Harry set his mug down. 'Sometimes,' he said simply, running a fingertip over the rim.

Iain propped his socked feet on one of the other chairs. 'You've got a little one, don't you?'

'Yeah. He's almost two.'

'Must be difficult. To be here.'

Harry raised a wry eyebrow. 'Just a little bit.'

Iain raised his mug to his lips. 'How does that work for you? Being married with a kid and being an Auror? I thought most Aurors opted to not get married in the first place. Occupational hazards and all.'

'Most don't,' Harry admitted. 'Or if they do, they either have a spouse who's incredibly amazing or they quit being an Auror at some point.' He began to unconsciously twist his wedding ring around his finger. 'It's a demanding life.' Harry let a corner of his mouth turn up briefly. 'Ginny, my wife, she's one of the extraordinary ones.' He took a swallow of his cooling tea.

'How much longer do you think this is going to take?'

'I don't know,' Harry sighed, gulping the rest of his tea and pouring more into his mug. 'Bet you never thought being an Auror would be so exciting,' he said deprecatingly. Harry closed his eyes, and a flash of the endless hours before James was born slipped through his head. 'It's like childbirth sometimes,' he said quietly. 'Long periods of waiting, followed by short, intense bursts of activity.'

'No kidding,' Iain grumbled.

'We'll get her.' Harry stretched his aching muscles. 'She'll cock up eventually.' He grinned mirthlessly. 'She always does.'

*****

Ginny woke up, sitting up groggily. She looked at the alarm clock. 'Damn it!' She was late and supposed to be in Holyhead in forty-five minutes. Ginny heaved out of the bed, and sifted through the layer of clothing on the desk. She lifted a gauzy shirt to her nose, giving it a cautious sniff. 'Good enough,' she mumbled, rooting for a pair of trousers. It was almost too hot for trousers, Ginny thought, but as she rubbed the sole of one foot down the other shin, she grimaced. She hadn't shaved her legs in the days since Harry had left. Trousers it was, then.

Ginny ran into the bathroom and hastily brushed her hair and washed her face. She tried to brush her teeth and put the trousers on at the same time, but she dribbled mint-flavored foam on them. Ginny spat the toothpaste in the sink and managed to get the trousers into place, then yanked the top on. She clattered down the stairs and snatched up her bag by the back door. 'Mum!' she called out, one hand on the doorknob. 'Mum! I'm leaving!'

Molly came out of the scullery, a basket full bedclothes in her arms. 'Didn't you wear that shirt last Saturday?' She frowned at Ginny. 'I could swear you did. I haven't washed it yet.'

'It's fine, Mum,' Ginny protested. 'I have to go to Holyhead. I'll be back before dinner.' Ginny looked down at her watch. 'I think,' she added, before lunging out the door and into the garden. Ginny hit the garden gate and Apparated before the gate could swing shut again.

*****

Ginny tucked her notes into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. Gwenog Jones lingered in the private room of the Harpies' favorite pub in Holyhead, waiting for Ginny. 'You could always come back, you know,' she said casually to Ginny. 'When your sprogs are a bit older.'

'I could,' Ginny acknowledged, equally casual.

'I'd take you back in a heartbeat, Ginny. One of the best damn Chasers I've ever had.'

Ginny shrugged. 'Thanks, but I'm happy where I am, Gwenog.'

'How can you be happy sitting on the sidelines?'

'Because I wasn't happy on a broom anymore.' Ginny smiled reassuringly at Gwenog. 'I like doing this. I'm good at it. Maybe just as good at it as I was scoring goals.'

'Well then, if we have to have someone writing about us, I'd prefer it to be one of us.' Gwenog gave Ginny a rough, one-armed hug. 'Get that one on a broom, eh? The sooner, the better. Especially if it's a girl,' she said, patting Ginny's stomach. 'We'll see you Friday in Portree.'

Ginny nodded, and walked to the fireplace and Flooed to the Prophet office.

Once safely ensconced at her desk, in the busy Quidditch section of the third floor, Ginny let herself consider going back to the team. She admitted there was a certain appeal about going back. She picked up a quill and without thinking, drew a line down the center of a piece of scrap parchment. Pros, she wrote at the top of one column. She scribbled, Cons on top of the other. For thirty minutes, Ginny wrote down anything that came to mind that would be a good thing about playing again. She only wrote one thing in the minus side. She spent a few minutes looking over the list, before stuffing it into her bag.

The feature about the 2006-2007 Harpies team was much easier to write. They still had the same players from last season, all of whom Ginny knew quite well. She finished the article quickly, and took it to Eleanor's office. 'Eleanor?' she said, knocking on the door. 'Here's my piece.'

'Oh, Ginny, I was just about to come talk to you.' Eleanor pointed her wand at the door, and it swung shut behind Ginny.

'Oh. All right.' Ginny stood uncertainly on the braided rug in front of Eleanor's desk, the story held in her suddenly cold fingers.

Eleanor glanced up at Ginny. 'It's nothing serious, really.' She motioned to one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. 'Sit down before your ankles swell up to the size of hippogriffs.' Ginny obeyed with alacrity. 'When I was pregnant with my second, if I stood for more than twenty minutes at a time, my ankles started to resemble Cauldron Cakes,' Eleanor mused, winding her greying sable hair into a careless knot, stabbing an ordinary Muggle pencil through it. 'How far along are you, anyway?'

'Almost seven months.'

'Huh.' Eleanor gazed at Ginny. 'You don't look it.'

'Gah. I feel huge.'

Eleanor snorted. 'What do you see when you look down?'

Confused, Ginny glanced down at her toes. 'The toes of my shoes.'

'See? I couldn't see anything but baby when I was seven months along.'

Ginny laughed. 'Oh, with James, I was the general size and shape of a beached whale.'

Eleanor sifted through a pile of paper on her desk, trying to locate Ginny's file. 'So when do you think you're going to start your leave?'

'End of July, I suppose,' Ginny stammered. She hadn't really thought about it.

'Good. We'll have a few interns we can put on the Cannons and Falmouth by then, and those two can cover the Harpies while you're gone.' Eleanor glanced up at Ginny. 'You do know you can take up to a year off,' she stated.

'Uh, yeah, I guess...' Ginny mumbled, looking down at her hands.

Eleanor put her quill down and studied the young woman on the other side of her desk. 'I suppose the question should be if you want to take a year off.' She propped her chin into her hands. 'What's the problem?' she asked bluntly.

'I don't want to be away that long,' Ginny said, only slightly defensive.

'I won't give your beat to someone else,' Eleanor said baldly, having been at this too long to dance about the issue. 'Readers like having someone from the inside covering a team.'

'When do I have to let you know?' Ginny asked.

'Well...' Eleanor flipped through a small calendar. 'You get six months off automatically... Are you taking all six?'

'I was planning on it.'

'That's fine. It'll toughen the interns to cover the Cannons for that long. Make 'em grow thicker skins.' Eleanor glanced down at the calendar. 'Just let me know by February fifteenth if you're going to take the rest of the year, all right?'

Ginny nodded, and rose from the chair, and turned to leave. 'Oh! Here's the article.' She handed it to Eleanor. 'Thanks,' she said quietly.

'Don't mention it. I had too many arsewipe editors like Flanagan, too.' Eleanor grinned at Ginny.

*****

Harry found himself disguised as an old man, sitting on a park bench in a rubbish-strewn square across the street from the abandoned house. He squinted in the early morning sunlight, and tried to peer through the murky darkness of the windows.

It had been a month. The trainees never complained about the long hours, or the enormous amounts of stress this put them through. They, like Harry, understood all too well it was a waiting game. 'Like chess,' Kevin had said. 'And it's their move.' Harry rearranged himself on the bench, grunting softly. Patience had never been one of his redeeming qualities.

Shacklebolt had been up last week to check in with them. He and Harry had gone into the back garden to talk privately. Ginny was fine. Shacklebolt had made a point to go by the Burrow on Sundays to check on her for him. The baby was fine, too. Ginny had been looking tired, Shacklebolt told him. Harry remembered she hadn't slept much when she was carrying James at this point. He wondered if she was freezing everyone in the Burrow, or just her room with that Cooling charm she had used in their Soho flat. James was doing well, too. He was a little clingy, though, and burst into frantic tears when Ginny had to leave to go to a game or to see Shanti for a check-up.

Harry shifted, trying to ease the numbness in his bum, when the wind shifted, coming off the loch. The front garden gate started to swing. It screeched, the rust on its hinges protesting mightily. The Muggles didn't even glance at it. Even Harry had to appreciate the skilled charm work, in spite of what it was for. The wind sent tendrils of chilly air down the back of his jacket. Harry shivered as they trailed down his spine.

*****

'DAHDEE!'

Ginny sat bolt upright as James' anguished cries penetrated through to her brain.

'DAHDEE!'

She threw the bedclothes off and stumbled into the chair at her old desk, stubbing her toes. 'Bloody, effing, hell,' she growled, rubbing the offended toes on top of her other foot, being unable to reach them normally.

'DAHDEE!'

Ginny yanked the bedroom door open and walked blindly across the landing to Bill's room.

'DAHDEE!'

She pushed open the bedroom door. James sat in the middle of the cot, his eyes filled with tears. 'Shhhhh,' she said, trying to pick him up. He flailed in her arms.

'Wan' Dahdee! WAN' DAHDEE!' he wailed.

Ginny managed to shift James to one hip, and slowly sank onto her knees to the rug in front of the cot. James struggled to get free, but Ginny held him tightly to her. 'Wan' Dahdee,' he moaned.

'So do I, James,' Ginny whispered.

'Dahdeeeee,' he whimpered in reply.

Ginny simply held him in her arms, rocking him slowly, like she did when he was a baby. He eventually quieted and went back to sleep, tears drying in silvery tracks on his cheeks.

*****

Upstairs, in their bedroom, Arthur put a restraining hand on Molly's arm, when she started to get up as James' cries reached the fourth floor. 'She won't appreciate it, Molly.'

'But...'

Arthur shook his head. 'You know Gin. If she wants it, she'll ask for our help. She'll want to be alone for this.'

Molly sat up, leaning against the ancient headboard. She picked up a bundle of knitting from the night table, and began to work on a blanket. She couldn't do nothing.

James' cries ebbed away after several tense minutes. Molly put the knitting down and slid out of bed. She tiptoed down the stairs and peeked into Bill's room. Ginny sat awkwardly on the floor, James in her lap. She rocked back and forth, her eyes fixed on something Molly couldn't see.