Ravenclaw's Shadow

Chapter 70

"Twenty weeks," George says, flipping the page over in the book, "halfway!"

He leans over and high-fives me.

"Okay, let's see, baby is about fifteen centimeters and, oh!" he raises his eyebrows, "it has two layers of skin now!"

"Woo, good job, baby," I say, rubbing my hand over the small lump jutting out from my stomach.

"So, now can we start talking nursery?" he asks, "we're halfway through and you're already all bumpalicious, so you're only gonna get bigger."

"Oi, watch it," I say, shaking my finger at him, "but yes, we can talk nursery."

"Excellent, I actually already have all the furniture I want in mind," he says, "let's go!"

He drives down to a huge baby store a few miles away that I didn't even know existed. We walk inside and he sighs happily.

"Finally," he says. I shake my head at him.

"Okay, I really like this one," he says, leading me over to a small crib.

"George, it's way too small," I say, "the baby will outgrow it in a few months!"

"But it's so cute!"

"No, we need something like this one," I say, walking over to a dark wooden cot.

"It's huge!"

"Exactly! The baby will fit in there for ages."

"But it's not white."

"So?" I say, "I always kinda imagined the room looking sort of... Jungle-y."

"I was thinking more marshmallow," George says.

"Well, why don't we find a half-way point between jungle and marshmallow?" I suggest, "something..."

"Like this," he says, walking over to a light, orangey, wooden crib.

"Ooh, I like it," I say, running my hands over it.

"We could paint the room a pale blue with white carpet, like clouds," George says, "that's not too gender specific, is it?"

"I thought you didn't want blue?"

"Well, blue is okay if it's the sky," he says, "we could even paint clouds on the walls."

"What if the blue gets darker as it goes up the walls, then we could do stars on the ceiling," I say.

"I like the way you think!" George says, "I knew there was a reason I married you."

"But the orange cot doesn't exactly fit in with that," I point out.

"No, but this white one does," George says, "and look, it has the perfect mobile!"

"How do you know so much about babies?" I ask him as we walk through the racks of baby clothes.

"I've been preparing for this since we got back from our honeymoon," he confesses, "and you seem to be finally getting into it."

"Trying not to think about what is growing in me," I say, "just pretending its human."

We leave the store with way too much baby stuff and go to the paint shop. Once we're done there, I'm tired and my feet are aching, so I ask, or rather demand, that we go home.

"You rest there, I'll put this all away," George says, putting a pillow under my feet as I settle on the sofa.

I fall asleep and when I wake up I can smell paint. I drag myself upstairs and see George standing in the middle of the nursery, paint brushes bewitched around him, painting the walls.