Window to the Soul

Harry was worried.

He bounced his young son James on his knee, entertaining both the baby and his nerves.  His wife was no better off, her hands constantly moving over her swollen stomach and through her hair and across the pages of the magazine she wasn’t reading.  But Harry wasn’t worried about her.

He was worried about Ron, who was standing stock-still at the fake window, staring at the rain that appeared to be hitting the enchanted glass and not responding to any noises or gestures whatsoever.

He was even more worried about Hermione, whose horrible screams had been abruptly cut off when a Healer had shoved Ron into the waiting room and magically sealed off the delivery room.

This had been almost an hour ago.  Fleur and Audrey had long since taken their children and Teddy to the Burrow to spare them from any traumatization.  Ginny had wanted to send James, too, but Harry had insisted on keeping him there.  He needed his son with him, and had successfully argued that James was too young to understand death or worry.  He was just over a year old, after all.

George sat in the chair nearest Ron, occasionally patting his brother on the back but otherwise giving him privacy.  Angelina and Charlie engaged in a half-hearted Quidditch discussion while Bill and Percy carried on a similarly-enthused debate on international banking.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley talked quietly with Hermione’s parents, both of whom seemed on the verge of tears.

Harry just sat and bounced his knee, giving his son the occasional giggle and watching one of his best mates emotionally collapse.  In all the years Harry had known him, Ron had never been so silent or still.  For all the life he showed, he could have met eyes with a Basilisk through the windowpane.  And Harry knew exactly what was running through Ron’s mind.

He had only heard a few moments of Hermione’s anguished cries, but they had sent him straight back to the dungeon at Malfoy Manor.  Ron had been in that delivery room for hours, and Merlin only knew how long she had screamed like that.  The helplessness from all those years ago couldn’t compare to what Ron had experienced in there.  To be so close yet unable to assist…to feel responsible for her pain…Harry couldn’t imagine how Ron must feel.

He had gotten a taste of it himself during James’s birth.  He had hated to see his wife in pain, especially when she blamed him for impregnating her in the first place.  Ginny, however, had been lucky, having been made with what one of the Healers called “child-birthing hips”.  She had shouted a lot, cursed even more, and nearly broken his hand, but within half an hour James had been successfully delivered and her pain was mostly over.  Hermione was built slimmer than Ginny, and her mother confessed that she had a complicated birth herself.

Ron hadn’t even flinched at the words, though he must have heard them.  Harry guessed his mind was going through the same anguish as his wife’s body.

The doors to the delivery room opened without warning, and the Healer who had exiled Ron before stepped out quietly.  The room behind her was horribly silent.  Her scrub robes were, Harry noticed, bloody.  Everyone but Ron focused on her immediately.
“Mr. Weas…er…Ronald, we need you.”  Ron nodded once and turned to follow her, showing his bloodshot eyes to the room at large.

“How is she?” asked Mr. Granger loudly.  “My daughter--”

The Healer ignored him, shutting the door and resealing it with a squelching sound.  The weather outside the window must have been attuned to the mood of the room, for the rain shower turned into an all-out thunderstorm.  No one even pretended to carry on a conversation after that bleak appearance.  Harry’s knee bounced so quickly that James squealed in protest, and Ginny scooped the boy from her husband’s lap with white hands.

Five minutes after Ron disappeared into the delivery room, a different Healer stuck his head through.  “Mr. and Mrs. Granger, if you would.”  They stood, clutching each other more tightly than any Permanent Sticking Charm, and walked into the still-silent room.

Most of the time, Ginny was slow to tears, but pregnancy seemed to skew her emotions toward them with even the slightest inclination.  Harry was, therefore, prepared to hold her when she began sobbing.  His own eyes were brimming with tears, and he fought to hold them back as the rain pounded the window outside.

When the door opened again a few minutes later, Harry had to extricate his face from a hysterical Ginny’s hair to see who had appeared to bear the bad news.  It was Ron, and he too appeared to be covered in blood.  Thunder boomed and lightning flashed simultaneously at his coming.  But he was smiling, grinning in a way Harry had never seen him grin before.

When he stepped all the way outside of the delivery room and shut the door with his foot, Harry realized he was cradling the bloody part of his robes.  He stood up to cross to his friend, meaning to comfort him, but an odd gurgle from the robes made him freeze.

“I’d like for you all to meet the newest Weasley,” Ron said softly.  The lashing of the rain on the window immediately ceased.  Harry felt himself grin, too, and joined the rest of the waiting room in converging on father and child.  The bloody robes turned out to be a dark red swaddling blanket, inside which lay a pink, wrinkled face.  “And the most perfect one I’ve ever seen, she is.”

“She?” asked Ginny in delight.  James mimicked his mother’s beaming face almost perfectly.  “A girl!”

“Aye, and a gorgeous thing she is.  She’s got her mother’s nose already,” he said fondly.  The baby stirred slightly but didn’t wake.  “Would you like to hold her, Grandmom?”

Molly nodded and took the bundle with practiced arms.  “Hello there, sweetheart.  You are so loved already,” she cooed. Arthur took her next, and he simply leaned down to kiss her on the forehead before passing her to his oldest son.  Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, and Angelina all held the infant for a minute or two before giving her to the next family member.  Ginny set James on his feet so she could take her new niece, but after she kissed her several times and cuddled her a bit Ron took her back.

“No offense, Uncle Harry, but ‘mione made me promise she would see you holding her daughter for the first time,” he said with a chuckle.  “That girl’s got a plan for everything, I tell ya.”

“She’s alright?” asked George, who looked and sounded rather more tentative than normal.

Ron nodded vigorously, and the entire family sighed and laughed in relief as the room filled with sunshine from the window.  “The Healers told me it was a bit harder on her than it should have been, but she made it through just fine.  She’ll have to stay off her feet a bit longer than normal, mind, but her brain’s still sharp as a tack.”

As if on cue, the door behind him opened and the Grangers came out, smiling more broadly than Harry had previously thought possible.  “She’s asking for you and Harry, Ronald,” Mrs. Granger said.  She reached down to cup the baby’s cheek before moving to allow Ron and Harry access to the delivery room.

“Are you sure I should come in?” Harry asked quietly.  He remembered how exhausted and unwilling to have company Ginny had been after James made his appearance, and didn’t want to intrude on Hermione’s time with her husband and new daughter.

Ron snorted and rolled his eyes.  “She’s still got the whole hormone thing runnin’, mate, and I bet she’d be ready to kill me if I came back in without you.  She wants to see you.”

Hermione had been moved to a different bed, judging by the half of the room that was sectioned off, and she looked utterly exhausted.  Her hair was matted, her face was red, and her eyes were at half-mast, but she still had the energy to beam at Ron and her daughter.  Harry hung back as she struggled to sit up in the bed, but couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she looked behind weariness.  “There you are,” she murmured as Ron handed her back the baby.  “Has she woken up at all?”

“No, despite the storm and the fact that she was passed around like a Quaffle out there.  Everyone had their hands on her at some point.”  Ron smoothed his wife’s hair from her forehead and kissed her.  Harry blushed at the intimacy of the moment, feeling like an intruder of the worst variety.

“Everyone?”  Hermione’s eyes narrowed, and Harry thought it best to intervene before she laid into her husband for no reason.

“Well, almost everyone.  Hi there, gorgeous,” he said gently, stepping forward.  Hermione’s eyes relaxed at the sight of him.  “That was a naughty little trick you pulled, scaring us like that.  You had us all going out there.”

She smiled.  “What’s life without a little bit of suspense?” she asked.  She looked down to her daughter’s face for a long moment before looking back at Harry.  “Does her favorite uncle want to hold her?”

Harry responded by reaching down to take the red blanket.  The baby girl inside squirmed slightly as he cradled her, and to his great surprise her eyes opened slightly.  “Hello there, princess,” he murmured.  She blinked and her eyes opened all the way, meeting his fully.  They were brilliantly blue, and he looked up at her parents.  “Ron’s eyes.”

“She opened them?!” cried Hermione, holding out her arms.  Harry handed her back over, and the mother laughed.  “You really must be her favorite, Harry.  The Healers were all concerned because she hadn’t opened them yet, especially after the fight she put up on the way out.”  Hermione looked up at Ron studiously before returning her gaze to the baby.  “He’s right, by the way.  She’s got your eyes.”

“A pity,” Ron said.  “Yours are much prettier.”

Hermione started to scoff, but her eyes suddenly drooped even farther.  “Can you take her, please?” she mumbled.  “I’m still a bit worn out.”

Ron obliged and rocked the baby back and forth, staring into her eyes.  Harry, too, could hardly take his eyes off hers now that they were open.  She had yet to cry, unlike James who had squalled off and on for days on end.  Her eyes moved around the room, as if they were eager to soak in as much information as possible as quickly as possible.  Eventually, her eyes fell on Ron’s, and her little mouth opened in surprise.  Harry held his breath, but instead of crying like he was expecting she merely studied her father.

“Check out that look, Dad,” Harry laughed.  “Not even an hour old and she’s already got her mother’s expressions down.”

Ron smiled but did not reply.  The baby’s eyes eventually shifted to a vase of flowers that had been placed next to Hermione’s bed.  Her eyes narrowed slightly, and her nostrils flared, and then the corners of her mouth turned up.

Hermione gasped.  “Did you—are you—she’s smiling!  She’s smiling at the roses!”

The baby responded by gurgling.  Ron moved her slightly closer to the flowers, and her smile grew.  “She really is,” he said in wonderment.  “I can’t believe it.”

Harry reached over to pluck a petal from one of the blooms, holding it near the baby’s hands.  She gingerly reached out and grabbed it, sighed, and immediately closed her eyes and fell asleep, still holding the petal.  “How strange,” he said.  “James didn’t want to hold anything but Gin’s fingers for days.”

“It’s not strange,” said Hermione irritably.  “It’s a sign.  Ron and I had decided that we would name our child Robert if they were a boy, but we hadn’t decided between Rebecca and Rose for a girl.  This is our decision.”

“She’s made up her mind herself,” Ron said fondly.  “And the middle name’s Harriet, by the way.  She doesn’t get to choose that one.”

Harry blanched at the name.  “What—Harriet?”

Ron and Hermione chuckled.  “That was the first name we chose,” Hermione said softly.  She yawned suddenly, and Harry smiled as her head fell against the pillow.

“I’ll go out and tell everyone the news, then, leave you two in here to rest.”  He leaned down to kiss Hermione’s cheek, kissed Rose’s forehead, and patted Ron on the back.  “Good job, all of you.”

When he entered the waiting room, James giggled and pointed at him.  “Dada!” he laughed.  The rest of the waiting family turned at his gleeful cry, and before he could even shut the door he was being interrogated.

“How’s Hermione?”

“Oh no, Ron didn’t drop the baby already, did he?”

“Did you see her eyes?”

“Have they named her?”

“Whoa, whoa,” he said, raising his hands to silence them.  “Hermione’s doing just fine, though she’s definitely exhausted.  And George, don’t even joke about that; it would take about twenty Summoning spells to make Ron unwillingly drop her.  Yes, her eyes opened when I held her.  They’re definitely Ron’s.”

“What about her name, Harry?” Ginny asked, her eyes gleaming in anticipation.

Harry smiled around the room.  “Rose Harriet Weasley.”

The window yielded even more sunlight at his words.