Disclaimer: Same old, same old.. Harry Potter and his world is not mine; I'm just playing in it. If there's somebody mentioned that you don't recognize from canon then it's mine. Cheers!
Author's Note: Thanks to everybody who reviewed! I'm glad y'all like the story so far. You guys truly make me want to churn out the lines even faster and do better. And actually, I do believe that "Emerson" is a girl's name. I just didn't want to name her the everlasting "Lily". Almost every story in which Harry has a daughter has her named Lily. Just trying to be different :) Anyway, onward..
Chapter Four
Harry and Hermione sat at his kitchen table more than an hour later, Julia's letter and the other papers spread out
between them. Hermione was still emotional, occassionally dabbing at her eyes but Harry had kind of settled into an
uneasy acceptance. He had had upheaval and upsurges in his life so often that he had more or less come to expect such
things. Not that one expects to be stashed with a baby without a mother but it wasn't any more unlikely than an
evil wizard out to murder you on any given day. At least he didn't have to worry about Voldemort anymore. Harry,
with the help of the Order, had finally vanquished that scourge of the earth once and for all in Harry's last year
at Hogwarts.
"Here's the letter for Emerson," Hermione choked out, handing him an identical white envelope with Emerson's name in Julia's elegant crusive. That was Julia in a word: elegant. Harry shook his head, not wanting to think about her right now. He would need to make some objective decisions without being too clouded by emotions.
He put Emerson's letter aside and picked up her birth certificate. She had been born on June 21 in Dallas, Texas, weighing in at 7lbs. 10 ozs. and was 21 inches long. Black hair. Slate blue eyes that were now already her father's emerald green.
"She's only three months old," Harry said, almost to himself. "What am I going to do, Hermione? I don't know the first thing about caring for babies."
She reached across the table and took his hand. "Don't worry. You have all of us, of course. And Molly has raised 7 kids. She's a storehouse of knowledge and experience if ever there was one. And I can always camp out at the library," she added, with a small smile.
Harry smiled back, staring into her eyes. "I'm so glad you're here. I was absolutely terrified earlier. I thought she was gonna suffocate with all that screaming; she was barely drawing breath."
"You should probably get used to it," she said, stifling a yawn. "But babies are really demanding. If you think Quidditch is brutal, wait till you're by yourself with Emerson. Not to scare you or anything."
"Oh, hell. I'm already scared. Voldemort had nothing on this."
Hermione was quiet for a long time, as she shifted through the papers. "Do you like her name?" she asked suddenly.
Harry looked at her. He got the feeling that that wasn't what she really wanted to ask, but decided to let it go. " 'Emerson'. Yeah, it suits her somehow. I mean, I doubt I would ever have thought to name her that if I'd had the choice. But it's the least I can do to honor her mother." He grinned wryly. "At least, it should make for interesting conversation when she's older. Imagine explaining 'Rosewater'. I'm gonna have to learn about the Cherokee so I can tell her about her name." Harry didn't even notice that he was thinking and talking as if the decision to keep Emerson had already been made.
"Or you could have her grandparents explain it. If you keep in touch with them like Julia asked," Hermione reminded him.
He nodded. "I intend to. It's the least I can do. Actually, if I remember correctly only Julia's mother is Cherokee. Her father is Jamaican or something."
"So Emerson is a quarter Cherokee, a quarter Jamaican and half British? She's a virtual globe all by herself," Hermione quipped.
As if to remind them just what else she was, there was a sudden plaintive wail from the direction of Harry's room. Harry and Hermione both jumped up but Hermione put a hand on his arm. "I'll get her. See if you can find a bottle in there."
"A what?" Harry asked blankly, but she was already striding away purposefully and after a brief moment of panic, Harry took to rooting through the baby's bag. "A bottle. A bottle," he muttered as he shifted little jumpers and onesies, clean diapers, the rattle that had set off the earlier screamfest, wipes. There were a few bottles and he held them up one by one. Shampoo. Lotion. Baby Oil. Baby Powder. Somehow, he didn't think those were what Hermione meant.
Emerson's wails were getting closer. "Did you find one? Poor little thing is probably starving."
"Er, no.." Harry muttered, feeling distinctly useless.
Hermione frowned. "They must be in there somewhere." She turned the bag around, checking the sides and sure enough, there was a tell-tale bulge where there were at least a half dozen bottles, kept magically at the perfect temperature. Harry pulled one out and held it out to her, looking sheepish.
"Sit down," she told him, ignoring the bottle.
He sat, puzzled but his expression quickly changed to near terror when she placed Emerson in his arms. The baby was still crying, obviously upset that they hadn't yet satisfied her whim. Harry looked from her to Hermione, who after a moment grabbed the bottle impatiently.
"Oh, Harry! Here, hold her like this." She adjusted Emerson so Harry was cradling her across his arm. Emerson turned her head and nuzzled his armpit and Hermione's face softened. "She's looking for the nipple," she said softly. "Just rub it on her lips so she knows where it is."
Harry took the bottle and nervously did as told and to his surprise Emerson turned her head and immediately latched on. She began sucking as if she had never eaten before and Harry watched in awe, feeling his heart swelling. With a jolt, he realized that he finally had what he'd always wanted: a family. Specifically, somebody directly related to him who didn't cringe at the sight of him. As such, the Dursleys didn't count. He hadn't been in touch with them in years.
But here in his arms was a tiny human being, his flesh and blood. Her eyes were closed, the little forehead creased as if what she was doing required the utmost concentration. He was suddenly overcome by a wave of emotion and he blinked rapidly so as not to burst out bawling. Emerson probably wouldn't like that. Was giving her up even an option?
Finally, Emerson let go of the nipple and smacked her lips. Harry laughed softly. "You liked that, didn't you?" He wiped a dribble of milk off the corner of her mouth.
"Now put her on your shoulder and pat her back, like this," Hermione instructed, taking the almost empty bottle. Harry did as told, breathing in the wonderful baby smell from her hair and feeling such a rush of love as he'd never experienced bef-
"What the..!" he exclaimed as something warm and wet dribbled down his neck.
Hermione laughed. "It's just spit-up," she giggled at Harry, who held Emerson away from him. Emerson frowned at him as he handed her over to Hermione, who grinned at his antics as he pulled his shirt off and wiped the white goo off his neck.
"Why didn't you tell me to expect that?" he demanded.
She rolled her eyes. "That's the purpose of patting her back, Harry. So she can burp and sometimes stuff comes up when she does."
"And of course I'm the quintessential expert on babies so I knew that," Harry retorted sarcastically.
Hermione ignored him. "Your Daddy is very silly," she was whispering to Emerson who blinked as if in agreement then gave the sweetest yawn. Harry dropped the shirt and sat down on the couch again and gingerly took his daughter. He was still nervous handling her but not as much as before. Her big, green eyes regarded him sleepily and he reached out a finger to smooth the black curls off her forehead.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" he murmured as he started rocking her, aware of Hermione's warmth beside him. He turned to look at her and found himself unable to look away until Emerson gave an odd grunt.
Hermione jumped up, looking strangely flustered. "I should probably go, but first let me show you how to change her. She'll probably be up a couple times tonight, whether for feeding or changing."
Harry gulped. A couple times?
"Put her down here and undress her."
Harry did, handling the little limbs tenderly noting how small and fragile they appeared in his Quidditch-roughened hands. The baby waved her arms sleepily, but was otherwise still. After a few minutes of fumbling, he finally managed to get the diaper off and tried gamely to follow Hermione's increasingly amused instructions for putting a clean diaper on.
"Well maybe if you stopped laughing at me, I'd get it right," Harry grumbled as the diaper fell apart for the second time.
Hermione was almost crying with mirth. "Oh, Harry. You're hopeless. You have to pull it tighter! She won't break."
"Easy for you to say! You don't have huge, baby-crushing hands. There. That should hold." He picked up the now-sleeping Emerson and the diaper promptly slid off. Hermione might have kept herself under control if Emerson hadn't decided at that moment to let loose a warm stream. Even Harry couldn't help laughing. ("Bet she was just waiting to do that, the little witch!").
A quick drying charm got rid of the pee, Harry finally put together a functional diaper, some clever Transfiguration turned the carrier into a bassinet ("You realize we're gonna have to go shopping, don't you?") and Emerson was down for the night. Or a few hours, at least.
Harry yawned hugely and grimaced as he stretched. He pulled Hermione into a hug, loving the feel of her hands on his bare back, burying his nose into her hair. He pulled away reluctantly. "Ah, Hermione, I'm completely knackered."
She gave a worried smile. "Are you sure you'll be ok? I'll be over tomorrow, first thing."
He raised his eyebrows. "What about Evan?"
She rolled her eyes. "His name is Ian. And he'll be fine. Good night, Harry." A quick peck on the cheek and she was gone.
"Evan. Ian. Same bloody difference." Harry hated Hermione's boyfriend. But then again, he'd hated all her boyfriends - not that she'd had many. It had taken him awhile to figure out why, which did nothing to make things any easier.
The desired shower long forgotten, Harry collapsed on his bed and surrendered to sleep. Just before he drifted off, however, a question suddenly flared in his brain: If Julia was on her deathbed, who had delivered Emerson to his doorstep?