Author's Note: Whoa. Thanks so much to everybody who reviewed! That totally made my day, seeing as how this is my first real fanfic. Thanks so much for the positive reviews and the suggestions. I did intentionally leave the story where I left it, hehe.. Some of your theories are hilarious! Cho? Voldemort? Hmm.. hope you guys like the rest of it! Rock on!
Chapter Three
Dear Harry,
If you're reading this, it means you have the baby. Her name is Emerson Rosewater. And she is your daughter.
Harry blinked. My daughter?! My...daughter.. He squeezed his eyes shut for a minute then read on.
You probably haven't a clue who I am so let me remind you. We met last year at the International Quidditch Conference in London.
'Oh, Merlin,' Harry thought. He remembered. Oh God, did he remember. He glanced guiltily at Hermione who was watching him curiously and dragged his eyes back to the letter.
I am so sorry for never writing to you, but I didn't want you to think you owed me anything. I really did enjoy your company (among other things) but I've always prided myself on my independence and what I had started to feel for you, in so short a span of time, quite scared me. Besides, I didn't want to force things. We agreed not to try to pursue anything after the Conference, and I was afraid of my feelings if we tried to keep up a correspondence. I was afraid that I would start to hope. And if that happened, I knew they would be dashed because even though you never told me, I knew someone else had your heart. And would probably have it for a long time, if not forever.
So imagine how I felt when I discovered I was pregnant. I didn't find out in the conventional way. My cycle had always been irregular so I didn't think anything of it when I skipped a month or two. But then during a routine checkup, about two months after I left London, my doctor ordered extra bloodwork and it was discovered that I had non-Hodgkin's lymphoma - a form of cancer. In the next breath, he informed me that I was also pregnant.
I can't begin to describe for you the range of emotions that overtook me. I don't believe that I've ever cried more in any given timeframe. There I was, age 24, and being confronted with my own mortality. I know people younger than me die everyday but like everybody else, I never thought it would happen to me! I had to make all these decisions, mainly did I want to keep the baby (the answer to that never wavered from a resounding 'YES'), and did I want to start treatment immediately? I was advised that the conventional methods of cancer treatment (Chemotherapy on the Muggle side and Hyperthermius Therapy on the wizarding side) could harm the baby, so I would need to either wait until after the baby was born to start treatment, abort the baby, or start treatment immediately and risk harm to the fetus. I chose the first option.
I knew it was your child and that I should contact you, but you seemed so busy, all over the place, media on your tail 24/7. It sounds so silly now, but at the time I thought it was the right thing to do. I didn't want to bother you. Besides, my doctors informed me that non-Hodgkins is one of the milder forms of cancer - and we caught it early. I should be able to beat it. No worries. I know nothing has changed for you, so why have I sent Emerson to you now?
The short answer is - I am dying. Turns out that waiting to start treatment was the worst thing for my body because it had to contend with both the unchecked ravages of the cancer - even a mild one like non-Hodgkins - and sustaining a growing baby (and let me tell you, Emerson grew vigorously! She was 7 lbs. 10 ozs. when she was born). My pregnancy was classified as high-risk, because of my illness, but the pregnancy itself was a breeze. There were no complications, except for a small scare during delivery.
My family wanted to keep her, wanted to raise her but I remembered your story. The fact that you're the last Potter and now I was carrying your child. It was a no-brainer. She belongs with you. Even if I were not in the state I'm in, I would have wanted you to have as much access to her as possible, as is your prerogative. You have the right to decide what you want to do, whether or not you want to raise her or leave her with my family.
Your daughter is perfectly healthy, beautiful and thriving. I am delighted that she got your eyes! It was your eyes, afterall, that were my undoing. Do you remember when we were trying to decide if we wanted to take the next step? Well, I was seriously considering saying 'no', even though I wanted you more than I had ever wanted anybody in my life. You were so damn sexy, Harry Potter! But there were just too many things that could go wrong there. And then I looked into your eyes, and something in their emerald depths chased away all my reservations, all my fears. And you know what? I don't regret it one bit. The memories of that weekend we shared helped sustain me through the past difficult months, through the sleepless nights when Emerson wouldn't stop turning somersaults, through the times when I was in so much pain I could barely stand to breathe. Because what we shared was wonderful, albeit brief, and it gave me my daughter. Our daughter.
Please, Harry, take care of her for me. I know you'll make the right decision. All I ask is that you send a letter to my parents - maybe a couple times a year and let them know how she is doing. I have enclosed a letter for her; please give it to her when you feel the time is right. I love her so much, and I don't regret for a minute the choice I made. My only regret is that I will miss seeing her grow.
Her name is Emerson after my favorite poet, Ralph Waldo Emerson and her Cherokee name is Rosewater. All her necessary papers are enclosed.
God bless you, Harry. May the Great Spirits watch over you, and my little darling. I know I will be, when I am gone.
With love, always,
Julia Crying Wind Thomas
*********
Harry lowered the letter slowly and stared at it in shock. Julia was dying, perhaps dead? Beautiful, exotic, vibrant Julia? It seemed impossible, somehow. It seemed unnatural for somebody that lovely, that graceful, that young to be dying. She was younger than him, for God's sake! It was a mark of how abnormal his life had been that he knew numerous people his age (and younger) who had died. But however horrible those deaths were (and he still had nightmares recalling Cedric Diggory, Seamus Finnigan, Cho Chang and the others who had fallen), their deaths had at least been quick. No less tragic, but none of them had really suffered. But Julia, from the sound of it, was slowly wasting away. Painfully.
And the baby. Emerson... Harry's heart constricted within him and he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.
"Harry." He jumped. He'd forgotten Hermione was there.
"She's my daughter," he managed to croak and registered Hermione's audible gasp. Wordlessly, he handed her the letter.
Harry was in shock. He was a father! The baby sleeping in his bed right now, who had almost deafened him earlier was his daughter. That's why she had those eyes. He'd noticed as soon as she opened them. Funny, he'd thought to himself that he'd never seen eyes that color before when he actually saw eyes like that daily - in his own skull. Oh, God. What was he going to do? He had Quidditch, he had to travel all over the place. He kept weird hours. How was he going to fit a baby in? How was he going to care for her? What was he going to do?
Hermione sniffled and he looked up at her.
"Oh, Harry!" And suddenly she was in his arms and he was crying too. Crying for his own fear, confusion and regret. Crying for beautiful, vibrant Julia, who was no more. And crying for poor, motherless Emerson.