Rebirth

Remember this: all things begin.

NOW.

The room is hot from the combination of too many bodies and not enough air; but absolutely no one is going to leave. Windows are thrown open to let in the meager July breeze, but all this does is provide the humidity an easy pathway into the bedroom.

"She should have gone to St. Mungo's."

"She wanted to be at home."

"Natural childbirth. What kind of foolishness is that? Where is that Cooling Charm!"

"It's not working! It's too hot outside -- it keeps melting the charm like ice cream."

"Then make it stronger! Merlin's beard, that's what a Cooling Charm is intended to do -- keep back the heat. If it's not staying up, you're not doing it right!"

"Here, let me try."

"Where did you say the mid-wife got to?"

"Delivering twins in Upper Wicket."

"And there was no one else?"

"There's a run on births, it seems. All those winter babies having summer birthdays. You were the only one we could think of, Madam Pomfrey. Thank you for all this."

"I couldn't say no, could I? Wouldn't have done, even if it were an option."

All conversation is broken off by a choked howl from the young woman on the bed. Normally lustrous hair is plastered to her forehead by sweat as her fingers claw at the bedclothes and she presses back into the mattress. Her heels dig at the blankets, forming deep ridges in the fabric as her pretty face twists in a grimace of pain.

"There you are now, dear. Push now. Come on, Fleur, push!"

NOW.

The men are pacing one floor down, wondering why women always seem to cluster, completely ignoring the fact that they are doing the very same thing. Every now and again one of them peers up the stairs, as if they'll somehow be able to see around the corner, down the corridor and into the bedroom to check on the progress of the labor.

The only man sitting is the one who's been here before. "Sit down, boys, there's time yet."

"How can you sit so still, Dad?"

"Because I went through this eight times, and by the eighth you figure out that pacing's not going to do anything but wear a rut in your floor. Save your energy for when it's over."

"Will it ever be over? Merlin, I feel like it's been going on forever."

"If you think that, imagine how she must feel."

"I should be up there with her."

"You should be where she wants you, and right now that's here."

A muted wail drifts down the stairs and all movement stops as it slowly fades.

"Cor, that didn't sound good, did it?"

"Ron, shut up."

"Well it didn't!"

"That's it, I'm going upstairs."

"No you're not."

"She needs me!"

"Yes, she does; and having you panic by her bedside isn't going to help her at all. If they need you, they'll get you. Until then, SIT."

"I can't sit!"

"Then stand. But don't even think of going up those stairs. You'll do nothing but get yourself in trouble if you go hammering on that door, demanding they let you in. Have you seen Madam Pomfrey when she's angry? Trust me, you don't want to. Leave it be."

The pacing resumes. The glances at the stairs become more frequent and more fervent. Time passes in a blur.

Then, like lute music, the tense silence is broken by the clear, candid wailing of a baby.

Mr. Weasley smiles. "There," he says, sitting back contentedly in his armchair. "I imagine you can go up now. They'll be waiting on you."

Bill takes the stairs three at a time.

NOW.

The air in the room is significantly cooler now, a soft blue nimbus pulsing at the window and turning the humid summer into cool springtime.

"Oh, isn't she beautiful?"

"Was there ever any doubt, with parents like hers?"

"Look at those eyes! So alert!"

"Weight, Miss Granger?"

"3.4 kilos, Madam Pomfrey."

"Excellent. Just where it should be."

"S'il vous plait… mon bébé…"

"Shhh… Here she is, Fleur. You have the most beautiful baby girl imaginable."

"Bill…"

"Ah, right. Miss Weasley, if you open the door I believe you'll find your brother on the other side. He's probably anxious to see his wife and child. We've cleaned up in here enough, I think we should let the poor man in. Molly, could you pour her some water?"

The door is barely open a fraction before a determined figure of lean muscle and long red hair shoulders its way into the room, making a beeline for the bed. "Fleur?"

"Mon Bill…"

"Oh God…" He drops to his knees next to the bed, pressing his forehead into her shoulder and breathing shakily as she tilts her head to the side to wearily nuzzle his hair. "I am never leaving you for that long again, do you understand? Never. EVER."

"Bill, sweetheart. You've forgotten something."

"Hmm?"

"To say hello. To your daughter."

THEN.

"Isn't he perfect?"

"Flawless. He's even got your eyes."

"And your nose. And ears. And probably your hair, the poor boy."

"And here I thought you loved my hair."

"Shush."

"Lily?"

"Hmm?"

"You're the most beautiful woman in the universe. Did you know that?"

"You tell me every chance you get, so I had an idea." There's a pause as a tiny hand flails out in search of contact and finds itself wrapped in its mother's tender grasp. "But thank you. For everything."

"You did all the work."

"Well, I seem to recall you had something to do with it…"

"Shhh, there are children present."

"He's perfect, isn't he? What shall we name him?"

"We'd reached the H's in the book, hadn't we?"

"Barely."

"What was the last name you remember?"

"Harry, I think. Yes, definitely Harry."

"It's fate then. The last name we read before he was born: Harry. I think it suits him, don't you?"

"Harry… Harry… I like the sound of it. It's homey."

"Shall it be then?"

"Yes. Yes, I think it shall." Lily gently kissed her newborn son's forehead, thrilling to the feel of his breath on her chin.

"Welcome to the world, Harry Potter," she murmured, as James laid a hand over hers on the baby's back. "I think you're going to like it here."

NOW.

"Merlin, she's as beautiful as her mother. I'll be utterly useless to everyone else because I'll be too busy staring at the pair of you."

Fleur smiles dreamily, watching as her husband traces a finger delicately over their newborn daughter's cheek. "Renee," she murmurs.

He nods, watching the baby's face as if in a trance. "Renee."

"She will change our lives, oui?"

"Are you kidding?" He looks up from his study of their daughter's face and gives her a radiant smile that would have put the sun to shame. "Our daughter? She's going to change the world."

It is a hot summer night near the end of July in the third year of the Second War as Bill Weasley kisses his wife to sleep.

Now remember this: some things begin again.

To be continued…