Managing The Mischief ~ Sequel to A Master of Mischief

~ Chapter 8

**Maddie’s POV**

The next two months seem to be going crazy in time. Sometimes it seems as if every day is dragging on and on and other times a whole week passes and I don’t even realise. Hermione, Fleur, Stephanie, Ginny and Maya have had their babies and I’m in labour right now.

Hermione had a boy, Hugo, Fleur a girl, Adéle, Stephanie a boy, Isaac, Ginny a girl, Lily, and Maya a boy, Alin, which means to keep in the pattern I should have a girl.

I’ve seen George a few times over the last couple of months when he’s been to visit the kids and we decided that while I have the baby the kids will stay with him, then when I feel up to it they can come back, if they want to.

“I’m going to vomit, I just know I am,” Angelina says, “this is horrible!”

I laugh.

“The best is yet to come,” I tell her, “and I did tell you now was a bad time to visit.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem to painful,” she says, “I thought you’d be in a ton of pain.”

“Not yet,” I say, “I’m only having light contractions.”

We fall silent and I think of George. He should be here. This is his baby too.

“Ange?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh… Could you get me a glass of water?”

I don’t really want to bore you with the horrible details of child birth, especially if you’re a girl. It’s not really that bad. Okay, that was a lie. It hurts. A lot. But it’s worth it, cause at the end you get a cute little cuddly baby. Although they’re a weird colour at first and covered with blood and gunk and – yeah, that’s probably not helping…

“It’s a girl,” Molly says, handing me my baby. I look down at her and my heart stops in surprise.

“Her hair,” I gasp.

“What?” Angelina asks, worried.

“It’s… it’s black!”

“She’ beautiful,” George says, gazing down at his three month old daughter. She’s blinking her large, brown eyes at him, looking interested.

“She’s just like you,” he says. I look at her and I have to agree. Out of 12 kids (discounting Teddy) one of them looks like me and she looks exactly like I did at that age. Poor thing.

“I’d better get going,” he sighs laying her down in her crib, “uh, have you named her?”

“We chose a name,” I remind him, “Arianwen Siri, remember?”

“Right, yeah,” he nods, looking relieved, “I just thought, maybe you’d changed your mind.”

I shake my head.

“She’s still our baby,” I tell him, “nothing will change that.”

“Look,” he sits down next to me, “I know we’ve had issues, but I want to work this out. I love you.”

“I love you too, George,” I tell him sincerely, “but I just… I don’t know…”

“Alright, I won’t push it,” he says, getting up, “bye.”

“Alright, guys,” I say, “Papi is going to take care of you while I get Alithea, Fred, Carmen and Teddy from the train station, okay? Be good.”

I carry Arianwen out to the car and tuck her carefully into her car seat.

Driving to King’s Cross is so much easier from Grimauld place. It doesn’t take forever and it’s easier to get around the traffic. When I reach it I carry Arianwen quickly through the barrier and see all the other parents waiting for their kids. I’m nervous of how the kids are going to react to the separation thing. I’ve sent them letters telling them what’s happening, but I haven’t heard back from them much.