I just couldn't handle it on my own. The day I nearly killed the life within my stomach was the day my mother bundled me up and took me away from the home that had been slowly destroying my sanity. We were going home, she told me, my first home. The Burrow.
My whole body shook as she carted me through the door and upstairs to my old bedroom. I collapsed as soon as I was in safe distance of my old bed, exhaustion taking over and causing me to black out. And for the first time in what seemed like decades, I slept well, without terrifying dreams that made me even more fearful for my world than I was when awake. For the first time, I had slept through the night without Draco by my side. I had always sworn that the Burrow had something special to it, some handed down power, and it took coming home to truly believe it again.
When I finally awoke almost a full two days later, my room was dark. Familiar smells eased me into the waking world; my bed sheets with its warm lavender, my room with its sweet yet woody tang, mum's baking.
The Grandfather clock down stairs began its time telling song. Five-thirty in the morning. I rolled over, willing myself back into my peaceful slumber. No one would be up for hours yet, except maybe mum. Sure enough, as soon as the thought crossed my mind, pots began to bang in the kitchen, followed by a soft string of curses as my mother tried to hush the noisy baking tools.
I smiled and then listened for Ron's snoring to catch and then start up again like it always did. That boy was the deepest sleeper I knew and, if we let him, would probably sleep his life away.
At first there was nothing, making me wondered if Ron had woken up already by accident. I listened hard for footsteps to pad their way across the room above me. But there was nothing, no sound at all.
I opened my eyes and turned to glare at the ceiling. Straining my ears, I concentrated on trying to hear signs of what the rest of my family was up to. The walls were paper thin so surely I would have heard someone move. But again there was no sign of life. It took another couple of pots smacking together from downstairs, again followed by a few quiet but colourful curses before I remembered why I was here.
I wasn't fourteen. This wasn't summer break. I was married to Draco Malfoy, who was off at war with what family I had left. And I was here, at the Burrow, pregnant, and going insane like I had been before.
Trying not to let it all come back that quickly was futile. I buried my face in my pillow, rolling over so fast that my back cracked, and screamed. The sound was muffled but it was enough to bring my mother running. Her large strides thundered up the rickety steps and the creaking floor boards and within seconds I heard my door fly open, smacking hard against the wall.
"Ginny?! Ginny, what's wrong?! Are you sick?! Where does it hurt?! Talk to me sweetheart-"
My bed groaned as she sat next to me, her warm hands moving to rest on my shoulders. Carefully, she rolled me over and bundled me up in her arms. Like she had on my kitchen floor she rocked me, my face becoming buried in her tattered nightgown, and I couldn't help but feel a little calmer.
"What's wrong?" she asked for the second time, her voice loosing its hysteria somewhat. "Did you have a bad dream?"
I shook my head, surprisingly managing not to cry.
"Are you hurt?"
Again I shook my head.
"Are you sick?"
Again.
"Tell me what's wrong," my mother quietly begged. "I can't help if you don't tell me and you know how anxiety does my heart in."
Somehow, a small, breathy giggle escaped me. Beneath me I felt my mother's entire body relax, the way a bullfrog deflates after he's done his bit.
"Well I'm glad you think it's funny," she muttered, taking advantage of my reaction. "Because I know watching me tear my hair out is just hysterical."
I couldn't help it. I laughed again.
"You just wait my dear. One day you will be faced with something just as uproariously funny as this and I shall sit back and chuckle till my sides are sore."
My eyes watered and my head flew back as bouts of laughter exited my mouth. It wasn't even that funny but soon, mum joined in and I just couldn't stop. For a moment, my heart felt lighter, the weight that had been sitting there for months lifting to allow me for just a little while to be…happy.
Eventually, a cramp formed in my stomach that forced me to calm. Mum followed soon after but we sat there, beaming at each other with tear streaked faces.
"I haven't laughed like that…in a long time," she said, her voice soft but still filled with contentment as her hand went up to wipe away the dampness on my cheeks.
"Me either," I muttered in reply, recognizing the fact for the first time while returning the favour.
As if sensing the darkness of remembering returning from its shadowed hiding place, mum hugged me close and kissed my cheek. I could tell she was trying her hardest to use whatever means she could to keep me from sinking especially if it came to showing how much she loved me.
"Come on then," she whispered into my ear as if what she were about to say was a great secret that no one else could know. "I made your favorite for breakfast but I need your help for the finishing touches."
A grin was instantly on my lips and nodded. It was a childhood thing that I didn't quite remember starting though it had something to do with Bill getting his letter from Hogwarts and the breakfast that was made for the first Weasley child to leave for the ancient school.
Trying not to snort, we rushed downstairs. Mum had taken firm hold of my hand as soon as we had cleared the bed, her excitement becoming infectious. As we reached the kitchen, our giggles became laughter again which got louder as I recognized the blue bowl in the center of the old, enormous table.
"Do you remember how?" my mum asked, trying to speak around a snigger.
"Of course I remember!" I replied, striving for a shocked face but probably looking more like a constipated fool that sent my mother spiraling into another wild fit.
We took our positions on either side of the table.
"Ready?"
"Ready!"
Somehow incredibly in-sync (as always), we clapped our hands together over the bowl. With huge grins, we pulled in our fingers and rubbed the pads together as if we were dropping pinches of some spice into the brown, blob-like mixture below. After a few seconds, gold sparks erupted and fell from our fingers tips, integrating itself with the stuff. The bowl glowed and embarked on a slow roll that took it in a large circle, using only its rim as a means to move.
"Quick!" my mother said, waving her wand at the stove. Instantly the room was hot, the prehistoric iron mound working its hardest to get to the right heat within a two second time frame. "Get it into the oven before it's too sweet!"
I grabbed the bowl with both hands, feeling a familiar tingle seep into my skin and float up my arms as I hurtled over the table. The oven door swung open, relieving me of doing the task myself. Carefully I placed the bowl near the back of the oven and slammed the door shut. The sound of metal on metal was jarring but I was to busy getting antsy over what was happening behind the door.
"Oi now! That stove is twice your age! Give it some respect!" my mother called over my shoulder but her voice was so crowded with excitement that the scolding was hardly something to take seriously. Had any of my brothers' used that much strength on the poor oven, they wouldn't hear the end of it for weeks. But this was special, and had my mother taken the bowl herself she probably would have done the same.
She came up beside me and together we bent over to watch through the tiny hatch near the door (installed for just the purpose of observing what was inside) as the concoction glowed. At first it just made the bowl rattle hazardously in the heat but then the mixture within it began to take on a life of its own. It twisted and turned, physically forcing the bowl to lie flat and become more like a plate.
"Close it up!" I whispered eagerly as our creation began to take shape. Mum's slid the iron grate into place, covering the hatch completely. I straightened first, watching as mum put her ear close to the grate.
"This will be a good batch," she said.
"It's always a good batch," I replied, enjoying my sarcasm. She stuck out her tongue at me and I return the childish act easily.
"Somehow, thought, I think this one will be extra unique." With a look at the oven she stepped back, instructing me to follow. The oven door burst open, swinging in the air that I had occupied not a moment before. The bowl-turned-plate shot out of the darkness, carrying its load over our heads and around the room before it came to a stop on the table.
"Now that," I said smugly, "is the only way to do pancakes."
For the rest of the day we baked everything from cookies to bread to cakes. By the time the sun started its ritual setting, the kitchen was filled with sweet things that our stomachs were too full to sample.
"What are we going to do with all this?" mum asked, glancing around the room and rubbing her stomach with a pained look. "If I try to eat anymore I might swell up so large I'll be an ogress."
"We could deliver it," I said, inspired all of the sudden. "I know the Grangers wouldn't mind some company and I haven't seen Hermione in ages."
"You know," mum said, pausing for a moment as if deep in thought. "That might be the best idea we've had all day."
"I've had," I corrected. "And second best. The pancakes still sit at the top for me."
"Yes dear, I do believe you're right," mum said, chuckling again.
"That's what I'm here for."
"To be right?"
"Exactly."
It took us an hour to locate our old picnic basket and then another half an hour to sort through everything, separate it into what we would give to the Grangers and what we would keep at home and then another five minutes to use a shrinking charm on all the baking.
"Why don't you go get changed dear," mum said, wiping her hand along her brow. "But don't take too long. It's already nearly eight."
I nodded and practically ran up the stairs, looking forward to this surprise visit with more energy than I'd had in months.
My mum, ever the smart woman, had managed to bring along some of my clothing and washed them while I was asleep by the look of them. I pulled my batter covered shirt over my head and was reaching for a clean one when I caught sight of my reflection out of the corner of my eye. Frowning, I stepped back and positioned myself in front of my chipped mirror. I stood there for a moment, just looking over myself; my face and its bags and blushed cheeks, my boney shoulders and arms from the amount of food I hadn't been eating before I came home, my stomach…
My stomach. Instead of the flat plane I remembered it had taken on a soft curve. I turned sideways to examine the new growth further. It wasn't huge but it was not something I could have reasonably ignored and passed of as bloating from all the baking I had gorged myself on that afternoon.
Gently, I ran a hand over the new mound. It didn't feel like the evil creature I was expecting. It didn't feel like something I'd hate. My heart fluttered just by touching it.
"Ginny!"
"Coming!"
I grabbed the t-shirt I had been reaching for and traded my pajama bottoms quickly for a pair of jeans before bolting out my bedroom door again. Something felt weird, but not a frightening weird. I couldn't make sense of the reaction and before I realized it, my hand had gone back to rest on my stomach.
I found my mother by the back door, standing a little more rigidly than she had when I'd left her.
"I'm ready," I said unnecessarily, unsure what to make of her posture. Her head wiped around the moment I spoke, trying unsuccessfully to remove the shock from her face.
"Um…this…this just came for you," she stammered, holding out a silver lined envelope. Whatever air I had had in my lungs was suddenly nonexistent as my eyes locked onto it, making me gasp. I couldn't move for a moment, paralyzed by the thought of rejection. What if he didn't want the child? What if he didn't want me because I was the one who carried it?
"Take it dear," my mother urged, taking a step forward.
Awkwardly, I took the letter from her and gradually opened it, finding two pieces of parchment within…
Dear Ginny
You have no idea how happy I am (though happy is no where near the word I'm searching for). I doubt Harry will ever let me live down what happened when I opened your letter. I promise to go into detail when I see you. Which by the way, or so I've heard, will be very soon. I told you I'd return! And for the most part everyone is still in one piece. Rumor has it that reinforcements are coming in, a lot of them, and they're sending us home for as long as they can. Isn't it amazing! I'll be finding out tomorrow whether it's true or not so I won't mail this until I know. If it's not, then I'll come home anyway (you know my expertise in sneaking).
I'm coming home Ginny and you had better be waiting for me when I get there. Don't make me come searching for you because you know I will.
I love you and can't wait to do that fatherly thing I've been told I'm supposed to do. You know, rub your stomach and what not. I'm seriously the happiest man in the world today. Nothing can dampen my mood.
Your other half and our child's father.
Draco
I had tears in my eyes before I finished the letter. My heart swelled, beating stronger and stronger as my breathing became deeper. I actually became dizzy as I re-read the last line before I remembered there was another part. I nearly ripped it in half trying to get it out of the envelope…
Dear Ginny
It's true, I'm coming home. But I've got some horrible news, today of all days. There was another raid this morning. I'm sorry Gin, but Ron's dying. We'll be at St. Mungo's around nine o'clock tonight.
I love you
Draco
Author's note: So I really want to know what you think on this one. It took me from just twelve in the afternoon to exactly 8:41 at night. I actually felt happy and suddenly sick as I was writing it, it was weird. But I really want to know what you think, like you wouldn't believe. Critiques whether good or not so good are all welcome! J