Harry

Nearly nine months in, Lily Evans could safely say she wished for many things, but this was not one of them.

She felt horrible, absolutely horrible, and she made sure to act equally as horrible to everybody because why should they deserve to feel well? They didn't have nausea, food cravings, nasty mood swings, and infernal pains to keep them grounded, and not to mention a child ready to rip her stomach open. She did absolutely not sign up for this.

The only person she could stomach being around was Alice Longbottom, who knew just as well, if not better, that pregnancy, be it during a war or not, was no reason for joy. She had already driven poor Frank into despair until she had him catering to her every need.

James was being uncommonly patient with her. Lily had lost her patience with him a long, long time ago.

"I want deep fried chicken legs with custard and tomato sauce," she whined to him that mid-afternoon as she lay on top of their shared bed, something that, lately, she only stopped doing when she was in need of a bathroom break. "I need deep fried chicken legs with custard and tomato sauce," she corrected herself, tugging at her husband's sleeve.

James sat down on a corner of the bed, next to her, looking rather amused, in spite of the still healing gash he was sporting on his left cheek. She frowned; after a resounding victory for the Order, both the battles and the casualties have been getting less frequent, and the injuries had grown steadily less serious. But Dumbledore had told them—this wasn't right, nor was it accidental. Day by day, the lack of injuries, the lack of deaths was growing more and more unsettling.

Somewhere out there, Voldemort was crafting them a trap.

And even so, Lily couldn't help but think, he would have to settle with being priority number two, because the very first thing she needed to do was get this bloody thing out or so help her.

"Okay," he finally said, and Lily's mood perked up. "How about we do this? Instead of deep fried chicken, I'll bring you a big, tasty bowl of porridge."

He gesticulated hopefully, looking rather pleased with himself. Lily gave him the darkest of glares.

"As soon as this is over, I'm leaving you," she announced stiffly, and pointedly turned her head away from James.

He chuckled. Soon, she could feel the warmth of him arms all around her and the pressure of his lips on the top of her head.

"Now, Lily, I know you're probably a little tired and a bit irritable—"

"Do you really want to go there?"

"—and I'm probably not really making this easier for you—"

"Understatement of the century."

"—but after our child—"

"You mean my child, because I don't see you carrying it."

"—is born and healthy, you're going to thank me for not letting you eat deep fried chicken—"

"You really aren't going to get me any deep fried chicken, are you?" she interrupted him, looking rather resentful.

"None at all," James confirmed, looking unaffected by her displeased tone. "Wait… Lily, what are you—"

Shrugging to herself, Lily pressed her palms to the bed and pushed hard, so she was sitting upright. To James' disbelieving eyes, she clumsily put her feet on the ground and rose—until she left a pair of arms gently pulling her back.

"Lily, you're in your last two weeks," James sighed, and the redhead lazily draped herself back onto the bed. "I'm doing this for your own good."

She was well aware he was right. Of course, James worked at St. Mungo's, and Lily knew enough about deep fried chicken to know it was not healthy, neither for her and nor for the child inside her. That, and she would probably vomit it all out. Still, she really, really wanted that chicken, so she abandoned her honest methods of persuasion.

"Frank lets Alice eat whatever she wants," she told him, pulling her lips into a pouty frown.

He, however, humoured her in his best serious tone: "Terribly sorry he wasn't here to propose to you first. Would you like some tea instead?"

"James…" she whined, looking up at him with big, sad eyes. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I love you, of course, so I wouldn't want you to have indigestion," he replied, promptly, and started stroking her hair. With an afterthought, "And because I'm awful with everything else."

Indeed, James seemed to be rather disastrous at everything that included housekeeping. It wasn't like his help was usually needed, anyway, so during her first months of pregnancy, when she could move without feeling like she was carrying a very heavy rock around, there have been absolutely no problems—the existence of charms, of course, and Lily's talent for them had done a good lot of help, too. Chaos ensured when Lily got steadily bigger and James insisted she shouldn't strain herself with chores. She had tried to assure him that, despite the fact moving was a bit more difficult, getting up was a real pain, and the occasional stomach kicking was a true inconvenience, she was completely fine with doing chores and that it would keep her from feeling bored. He was so stubborn that she gave up.

For two weeks, she would occasionally hear:

"Shit!"

"Son of a—"

"Oh, no, no, no! Reparo!"

"Please, please—Noo!"

"Fuck."

"Sweet baby Merlin."

"Why!?"

Lily would guilty chuckle and shout: "Everything alright out there?"

"Yeah, don't worry. I'm fine."

When he nearly broke his arm while doing the dishes, Lily decided they'd both had enough and, despite James' blatant disapproval and exclamations of 'I can handle it, really', she took over the household chores.

It was sort of nice to see him finally acknowledge that, no, he was actually not good at housekeeping.

She did, however, feel rather bad for James and assured him: "That's not true. You also do a very fine back massage. "

"And I'm sure that career will do wonderfully in the wizarding world," he replied, jokingly. "Actually, I'd do some pretty nifty offers. Pay for one massage—get one for your cat, or broom, or annoying cousin."

Lily giggled, reaching out to grasp his hand into hers. This was James, and they were married, and there were having a baby. All around them, there was war and disorder and unhappiness but it was so hard to focus on anything beyond four walls and make themselves unhappy for the sake of others, even if it should've been possible.

"James?"

He was smiling, lazily tracing circles on her hand with his thumb. "Hm?"

"I love you," she mumbled, because she'd heard enough of war and so little about love.

For a moment, he looked at her. He really looked at her, and there was so much emotion in his eyes and so many words he wasn't saying. Then his smile widened.

"I know. I'm pretty amazing."

Laughing, she let go of his hand to playfully smack his arm.

"You prat. You just couldn't help ruining the moment, could you?" she asked him, her laughter slowly fading to giggles

He gave her the smile—that one she was used to receive during the days he still played Quidditch and came to see her after a long practice session; then he bent down and kissed her.

"I love you too," he murmured against her lips. She smiled.

He pulled away only slightly—their foreheads were touching. There were times she forgot how wonderful it felt, having these small moments of affection between everything tiresome and every frustration they had in life. And there were also times when she used these moments to her avantage.

"James," she began sweetly, widening her eyes for effect. "Could I have some chicken now?"

She had effectively managed to ruin the mood, of course. James looked at her for one long minute and then sighed in resignation.

"Don't come complaining to me if you feel ill later," he warned, but the corners of Lily's mouth went up at his indirect confirmation.

James pulled away and broke the contact between them, then rose from his spot on her bed. She sent a very grateful though also self-satisfied smile his way.

"You know I really love you, right?" she added, for good measure.

He gave her a pointed look, "Save that for later if I'll have to hold your hair while you vomit."

She rolled her eyes, watching his retreating form. Finally, her strong desire for deep fried chicken, a dish she'd never been fond of, she reckoned, would be fulfilled. Her stomach gave a lurch of hunger—and her abdomen a lasting, uncomfortable pain.

She cringed, wishing for what seemed like the hundredth time for this to end already, and swearing to herself there was no way anyone would ever convince her to go through this again. On the ridiculous thought that James wanted more children, she decided she would buy him a pet instead—maybe a cat. A cat would be lovely, and would not cause so much physical pain.

After a while of listening to the noises coming from the kitchen and James' footsteps as he wandered around the house in search for ingredients, she vaguely realised she had to go to the toilet. Getting up was not an easy mission, and the pain in her lower region—fake contractions, she assured herself—did not make the trip any more easier. On the way back though, she was just about to climb back into bed when she felt liquid dribbling down her legs.

Oh, fantastic. She had actually peed herself.

She cringed, slowly turning around to go back to the bathroom and wipe herself clean. And then, just as suddenly, she froze.

She had just come back from the bathroom.

Oh, Merlin.

"James!"

A million thoughts ran through his brain at once. Lily had injured herself. Lily had forgotten to tell him to use a certain ingredient. Lily needed something.

What he found, however, when he all but suddenly appeared in the doorway, was Lily awkwardly standing by her bed, clutching her stomach and looking down at it.

Something had happened to the baby.

"What?" he asked, urgently.

In Lily's brain, there was only one thought, constantly repeating and altering itself. That was my water. My water broke.

My water broke!

Then the growing pains in her abdominal region remembered her exactly why that thought was important, and why James was here.

"James, I think it's coming out."

She directed her eyes, wide with shock and realisation to her husband. To her further surprise, he was white as chalk.

"What do you mean… out?"

"I mean, out," she clutched her stomach and cringed. "Out of me. The baby's coming."

That had safely reduced James to a sputtering mess, "But—but it's tw-two weeks before you're due."

"Well, yeah, I guess so," her face contorted in pain. "Could you just—"

"But it can't come out right now," he exclaimed, rather stupidly.

Lily was quickly growing frustrated with him. "You try and tell that to the baby while I go get the Floo Powder."

That seemed to snap him back to his senses. "You can't travel by Floo! It's dangerous!"

"Are you offering to take me for a side-along Apparition?" she asked, dryly, gesturing to her large frame.

"…I'll go get the Powder."

The pain was getting gradually stronger. Although she would normally feel horrified to even consider such thoughts, she couldn't help thinking that if the Cruciatus Curse was at least half as bad as a pregnancy, it was really no wonder that some people these days considered the Killing Curse merciful.

James was taking too long, she realised, so she struggled to get to the doorframe and peek her head out, looking down the hall, to see him… writing on multiple pieces of parchment.

She was this close to killing him, she swore.

"Oh, just send one to Sirius," she snapped, making him jump and turn his head around to look at her. "He'll go out of his way to tell the whole bloody England, anyway."

"Good point," he nodded, discarding his quill and picking up one already written piece. Then he went to the open window and tactfully started to tie the letter to the owl's foot.

Oh, sodding hell.

"I don't mean to rush you, but I'm giving birth," she reminded him, grimacing at the arrival of another set of—Merlin's beard, the pain.

"I'll be just—Erm," then he clumsily finished and dismissed the owl.

By the time they reached St. Mungo's, Lily had started thinking the Cruciatus Curse looked quite merciful.

"This is all your fault."

"Shh, it's okay. Push. It will be over soon, alright?"

"Don't tell me what to dooo—owww. This is horrible. I'm never having kids again—"

"Now, let's not—"

"Never."

"Alright, Lily. Just push. You can do it."

"Shut up, shut up! You're not helping—ow, bloody hell—at…at all!"

"There you go, that's it. Push."

"If you open your mouth one more time I'll push your skull against that wall."

"Mr. Potter, I think it would be wiser if you left."

He was beautiful. That was the one way Lily could describe him, the moment she saw her baby. She'd cried faster than he did, overwhelmed by so much emotion, and tiredness and the relief of it all being over. Then they'd brought him a bundle of cloth, and he'd opened his eyes—Lily's eyes, a brilliant green, staring back at her, uncomprehendingly and possibly wondering about the strange woman.

Harry James Potter.

"He's beautiful," James voiced her thoughts, and she found herself startled, but oddly unresponsive.

"Yeah," she tried to acknowledge, but it came out croaky and barely intelligible. "He's—he has your hair," she blurted out, looking pointedly at the small tuft of black hair on top of his head.

James laughed, prompting Lily to do the same. Over the years, the infamous Potter hair had often served as the subject of many jokes, most of them initiated by Sirius.

The same Sirius that, not only five minutes after Harry was carried away and James was preparing to let Lily have her rest, burst inside the room, complete with a sack of oranges and some flowers.

Behind him, Remus was shaking his head in what seemed like both amusement and embarrassment.

"You're alive!" he exclaimed with a grin in Lily's direction, and strode proudly towards her bed.

"Oh, no. Absolutely not!" they heard, and the fussy Healer who had advised James to leave during the actual birthing came into the picture. "Mrs. Potter needs her rest. No time for visitors."

She snatched away the gift from Sirius' hands as he watched, dumbfounded, and set them on the table.

Sirius seemed to come back to his senses, "I'm sorry, but I don't think you understand. We're her family. She wants us here," then, for good measure, and over the shoulder of the Healer who had already started to force him out, "Don't you, Lily?"

And in that moment, Mary Macdonald's face appeared in the doorway. She waved uncertainly at Lily, and urged her boyfriend—awkwardly standing by her side—to do the same.

"A couple minutes won't hurt me," she said, rather reluctantly, to the Healer.

She flared up. "It is not recommended—"

"You've heard the patient," Sirius spoke over her, eagerly pushing past towards the Potters.

Remus threw the Healer an apologetic look. "I'm really sorry. Rest assured we won't be long," he glanced at Sirius, "and he'll behave."

The Healer scowled at him, "Fifteen minutes," and brusquely walked off.

Mary rushed to her friend's side, looking rather windswept. "I just got the owl. Are you okay? How was it?"

Lily could still feel the sweat trickling down her back. "To be honest… I think it was on the same scale with a Cruciatus."

Mary paled visibly, and her head instantly whirled towards the doorframe.

"You've been practising the contraceptive spells, right?"

Sirius snorted loudly. Her boyfriend had already put a palm over his face. "Oh my God, Mary."

She blushed visibly, but continued: "I'm serious. There's absolutely no way—"

"We're not having this discussion," then he turned to Lily, clearing his throat. "So, is it a boy or a girl?"

Everyone but James seemed to have remembered their real reason for visiting and was eagerly awaiting her response.

"A boy," she answered, and next to her, she could imagine James beaming proudly.

"He has her eyes," he added, and Lily felt him reaching for her fingers.

She clasped her hand around his, tightly. That's right, it was over. They'd both done it. They'd brought life to the world—somehow, Lily felt like this was a bigger accomplishment than defeating the Dark Lord, something she hadn't really thought about in a long time.

And now they had one more reason to keep hoping.

"What's his name?" asked Mary with a wide smile on her face.

"Elvendork," Sirius replied before they had the chance to, through mouthfuls of orange.

Remus snorted in laughter—they had introduced him to the list a little while after Sirius had found out—but the other two occupants of the room looked at them in complete confusion.

"It's Harry," Lily patiently corrected with a smile. "Harry James Potter."

"I'm the godfather," Sirius quipped almost instantly.

Mary looked at Lily, incredulously, before her features contoured into something far more serious.

"Did he drug you?"

"Really nice, Macdonald," the bloke in question drawled, sarcastically.

Mary looked like she was about to retort, but then a sudden jumble of very loud, agitated footsteps and an anxious voice was heard from the direction of the hall. The noises drew nearer and nearer, until they reached the door; they stopped, but only for a millisecond.

The door opened and Peter burst in, looking rather breathless. He smiled at them, and with a wave, collapsed on a chair next to Lily's bed.

"Hey," he greeted. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," she admitted, and then pointedly looked around. "Which reminds me that it's only a matter of time before the Healer comes back and throws you lot out, so I'd say you'd better leave out of free will."

They spent their last few minutes filling Peter in and letting him catch his breath, but then Lily nearly fell asleep mid-sentence, waking up only when James lightly shook her to bid her goodnight.

Mary closed the visit with the announcement that she would buy Lily a huge basket of chocolate, and Sirius said he'd bring firewhiskey, which she politely declined just as the Healer entered the room and shot them a rather reproachful look.

"What took you so long, Wormtail?" James asked his friend when they were on their way out. "I sent that owl at least an hour ago."

"Oh, you know," he seemed rather disgruntled, giving him a snide look. "Some idiot in Godric's Hollow left chicken cooking on the stove."

James Potter could safely say he'd known from the start that the chicken was a bad idea.

Dear Petunia,

How are you doing? How's Vernon? We haven't spoken in such a long time. I wish you could've made it to the wedding, but I guess I shouldn't have set my expectations too high after the impression James made.

He's sending his most honest apologies to Vernon, by the way. He hadn't meant to offend him.

I'm actually writing to tell you I gave birth recently. I guess I thought you would at least want to know that you've got a nephew.

His name is Harry. I hope you'll get to see him someday—all of us, actually, if you want to.

I'm not really expecting a reply, but it'd be nice if you took time to tell me you've at least read this.

I really miss you, Tuney.

Love,

Lily.