Author's Note: I feel like I have been promising this story for such a long time, but here it is finally! Bear with me as I have a lot of notes to get through here.

First: Thank you to my betas, Nightfuries and poetintraining576. I was paired with them through Project Team Beta and they both post here on Fanfiction. They worked really hard to get this story in shape and it is 100% better because of their efforts and guidance. So, thank you again, ladies. (Check out their stuff and leave nice reviews.)

Second: Thank you to keeptheotherone for reading the prologue and giving me feedback. (Sorry for torturing you.) She also posts on Fanfiction and if you are not reading her stuff, then what are you waiting for?

Third: This is for percychased (who also posts lots of KBOW stories on Fanfiction). Ages ago, I did a gift giving exchange for her. The prompt was "first class" and it was supposed to be a Katie/Oliver story. I never did write anything for that prompt, but while brainstorming for it I came up with the nugget that became this story.

Finally: This story is a bit different. For starters, it's first person, which is a POV that I don't often use because I don't really like it. However, this story demanded to be told from Katie's perspective. And also, I apparently hate myself… I mean, I felt I should challenge myself. Also, I feel as though a lot of my stories revolve around grief, but this story is quite the opposite.

One more thing…

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or world in which they live.

It all started with Quidditch. It always does.

I moaned into my husband's chest as I rode out another contraction. Its hold loosened just enough for me to take a deep breath before the next one came. The spasm rippled through my abdomen and down my legs. I gripped Oliver's arms tighter, and I turned my body into the pain, like I would roll on my broomstick to keep from falling. It was getting hard to tell when one contraction ended and another began.

"Focus on one spot," Oliver murmured. I stared at the U for United on his blue t-shirt. We were so close that my world had narrowed down to the circle of his arms. "Now take a deep breath and let it out slowly. One…two…three…"

His voice kept me focused as I endured the contraction.

The two of us were shut away in our bedroom. I was dimly aware of the first rays of dawn sneaking in through the window. The world outside, I knew, was covered in what would likely be the last snow of the season, but inside our room, a small fire crackled in the grate to keep the chill at bay. The warm golds, reds, and blues of the bedspread gave the old room a snug, happy feeling. Not too far away, probably in the kitchen, were the midwife and Oliver's mother, Roberta. In the cottage down the lane, with their Aunt Catriona, were our sons Bobby and Rory. And they were about to be joined by a third little lad anytime now, judging by how quickly the contractions were coming.

When the pain passed, I closed my eyes and pictured another plump, dark-haired baby boy like his brothers. I couldn't bring myself to hope for a girl this time around. Not after having two fat, wiggly wizards placed in my arms. It would be a third lad for us, fourth if you counted Oliver's godson (and I did).

"You are doing great, lass," Oliver murmured. He rocked me back and forth on my feet. "You're so strong."

The respite only lasted a moment before another contraction came on. Oliver was calling for me to focus again, but all I wanted to do was squat. I grunted something incoherent. Somehow, he got the message and helped me into a more comfortable position.

"I think it's time," I rasped when I found my voice again.

"Mum!" Oliver yelled, and I winced at his Quidditch-pitch-level hollering. I looked up at him; he was smiling sheepishly. "Right. I should probably go get her, then?"

I managed a weak grin at my clueless husband, but it quickly turned into a grimace. Oliver steadied me until the contraction passed. Then he helped me over to the bed where I could squat with the assistance of the footboard until he returned.

I breathed deeply, trying to gather all my strength and concentration for what I knew was coming. This was the room where both of my children had been born. My husband and his brothers had been birthed in this room as well. Countless generations of Wood men had been brought into life in this room by women strong (or mad) enough to take on this family. At that moment, I could feel their spirit and the strength of their magic humming around me. It filled me with a new energy.

Then my mother-in-law was at my side, taking my arm and helping me up. Oliver was on the other side, and the two of them half-walked, half-carried me over to the birthing stool that the midwife had brought out, yards of white toweling spread out beneath it. Roberta gave me a bracing smile. She was a blessing in all this: no-nonsense, tough and tender all at once. My own mother, a Muggle, was a nervous wreck during the deliveries. She was accustomed to in-hospital births with doctors for assistance and needles for pain and operating rooms for emergencies. Wands, birthing stools and midwives were a little more than her nerves could take.

Once they sat me on the stool, Oliver knelt behind me to act as a backrest, and the midwife checked my progress. If she told me that I wasn't fully dilated yet, I was going to kick her.

"Och, lassie," the old witch exclaimed as she pushed my nightgown up above my swollen belly, "yer laborin' hard now, ain't ya? Let's see where we're at, shall we?"

The woman was as ancient as the hills and had delivered every witch and wizard in three counties for the last eighty years. I often suspected that she put on the country accent as a part of a show. I'd seen pictures of her in Ravenclaw blue and bronze looking as urbane and sophisticated as Narcissa Malfoy, but I could understand how that might be off-putting for rural Scottish witches.

"Aye, yer ready," the midwife confirmed. "On the next contraction—"

"I want Roberta," I said impulsively, surprising myself with the strength behind my words.

Neither witch looked surprised nor put-off. While the two witches traded places, I leaned my head back against my husband's strong, familiar shoulder and slipped my hands into his. Oliver murmured his love in my ear and pushed the hair from my forehead. Another contraction came, and I arched into it, breathing out. Stay focused, I told myself.

"On the next contraction, Katie," Roberta said from where she knelt between my legs, "I want you to push."

The next wave of pain came, and I pushed against it, amazed as always how the act of pushing relieved the agony of the contraction.

"Good," Roberta said, hand on my belly. "I can already see him coming. He should crown with the next push."

The next push did indeed bring the burning sensation of crowning. I gasped at the pain; this was the worst bit. Saying nothing, Oliver's arms tightened around me. My eyes were scrunched and tearing, but I could see the midwife pass a bottle to Roberta, who poured the potion over me and massaged it into delicate skin that was under so much pressure, easing it back, giving it extra elasticity. Then she waved her wand, murmuring the spells that would ease the pain. A cool sensation settled between my legs.

I let out a relieved breath.

"All right, love," Roberta said, "next push and we should have the head out. Ready?"

I nodded, past the point of coherent speech.

The next contraction came. Leaning forward, teeth gritted, I bore down with a long, low growl. Roberta was counting (seven, eight, nine), then my baby's head pushed past my pubic bone, sudden and relieving like popping a balloon. There was another popping sensation as Roberta guided the shoulders out, and my baby slipped from my body into the capable hands of his grandmother. A lusty cry filled the whole room. Grinning and panting, I collapsed back against Oliver who was kissing my cheek and saying how much he loved me.

Euphoria flooded through me, and I giggled breathlessly. I had done it. Oliver and I had made this baby, and I had grown him inside of me, then I brought him safely into this world. I was powerful. I was a warrior, and I could have fought a battle in that moment if I had to.

"Mum?" Oliver's voice in my ear was full of concern.

The smile faded from my face as I looked at my mother-in-law, my gooey and bloody baby still in her hands. She was looking at him with an odd expression. My heart came to a screeching halt, my chest constricted. I pushed away from Oliver, ready to snatch my baby from his grandmother.

Roberta's eyes slowly traveled from my baby to lock with mine in wide shock.

A/N2: I will post Chapter 1 next Tuesday. The story is complete and I will be posting one chapter each Tuesday. Hope to see you next week and please leave a review.