Ravenclaw's Shadow

Chapter 68

I check my watch and sigh to myself. It's ten past seven and I was supposed to finish work at five, but due to my recent promotion and subsequent increase in work load, I've been working late nearly every day, something that has become a point of tension between George and I. Today, being our fifth wedding anniversary, we made a booking at a restaurant for seven-thirty, which I promised not to be late to. I could have left an hour ago, except I'm waiting for Janice Hellbourne, the head of the Office of Misinformation to bring paperwork over to me.

"Aurelia?" Lottie Newsparrow pokes her head in my door, "why're you still here?"

"Waiting on Janice," I say, looking at my watch. Seven-eighteen.

"She left two hours ago," Lottie says, "have a good weekend."

I swear loudly and hurry down to the elevators. I jump in and hammer the Atrium button. As I run across the empty lobby I glance at my watch. There's no way I have time to go home and change.

The restaurant is only about five blocks away, and I know there's nowhere safe to apparate to that's any closer, so I have to run it. I, however, made the stupid mistake of wearing heels to work today and I know how dirty the ground is, thank you pigeons, so I'm not taking my shoes off.

I reach the restaurant at seven-forty-five. I'm panting, sweaty and my feet hurt. I take my hair out of its bun and flip my head over, shaking it out, before walking into the restaurant. George raises his eyebrows when he sees me and I sigh, sinking into my chair.

"I know, I'm sorry," I say, "only fifteen minutes, though."

"I made the reservation for eight," he says, "I knew you wouldn't get here at seven-thirty."

I feel guilt settle in.

"I'm really sorry," I say, running my fingers through my hair, "work has just been-"

"I know," he says, "forget it. Happy anniversary."

He raises his glass to me and we toast.

"Five years," he says, "you know, we only have one year left on our deal."

I choke on my wine and start coughing.

"You remember that?" I ask, my eyes streaming.

"Yep," he nods, "so, how do you feel about having a baby?"

"God, George," I say, setting my glass aside, "I just started this new position, we've just moved house, I've just started speaking to my parents again..."

I trail off, seeing the look of disappointment on his face.

"Every time we talk about this you have an excuse," he says quietly, "if you don't want to have kids, you need to tell me."

"It's not that I don't want to," I say, "I just want it to be the right time."

"What is the right time?" he asks, "we have a big enough house, we both have fantastic jobs, good enough that we can live more than comfortably off one income, so what? What is it?"

"You know what I'm afraid of..."

"Then let's adopt," George says.

"Yeah, let's adopt a muggle baby and have them always be the outsider," I say, taking a long drink of wine.

"Aurelia, if we have a human baby they'll be the outsider too," he says.

"No," I shake my head, "not with the rest of the family. Not at school!"

George doesn't say anything, he's pretending to look at the menu, but I can tell he's not reading.

"Okay," I say, "okay, let's start trying."

"Don't just say that," he says, "this isn't a decision that you make lightly."

"I can't keep putting it off just because I'm scared," I say, "besides, in a year the chance will go from fifty percent to zero."

George doesn't look convinced.

"Look, it probably won't happen right away," I say, "but let's start trying. Let's have a baby."

At the word baby a small smile creeps onto his face.

"Okay," he agrees, "let's have a baby."

***

"Holy shit, it happened right away."

We're staring at the third positive pregnancy test over two weeks.

"Yes!" George punches the air, "I can't wait to tell everyone!"

"Whoa!" I say quickly, "calm the farm. I don't think we should tell people right away."

"Why not?" he asks, "we could go visit right now!"

"I can't be more than a couple weeks along," I say, "I want to wait until at least twelve weeks, there's less chance of a miscarriage then."

"But that's foreeeeeever!"

"It's like a third of the way through!" I laugh, "this isn't a short process."

"We're gonna have a baby!" he dances around singing. I can't help but laugh at him.

"We have to get everything ready," he says, "what colour should we paint the room? Not blue or pink."

"Whoa!" I say, "George, calm. First, we need to see a doctor, just to make sure. Second, we need to take things slowly. There's no rush. We've only been trying for a month, so I can't be very far along."

He walks over to me and kisses me hard.

"I'm so happy," he says, cuddling me.

"I know, but you have to be patient," I say. He groans.

"Hey, why don't we go and get a book on pregnancy?" I suggest, "then we'll know week by week what's going on with it."

"We can't call the baby it for nine months," George says as we walk down to the bookshop, "we'll have to think of a nickname."

"We can call it it," I say, "what's wrong with it?"

"Our baby isn't an 'it'," he says.

"It could be," I say, "there's no way of telling if it's human until it's born."

George stops and looks at me.

"Are you going to hate the baby if it's a vampire?" he asks. I look at the ground, but shake my head.

"I just don't want to to be an outcast, like I was," I say, "I want life to be easy for it."

"Life is never easy," George says, putting his arm around my waist, "oh, hey, twelve weeks!"

"Until what?" I ask.

"Until I join the undead," he says excitedly, "Rey, we have to tell Fred."

"You can tell Fred," I say, "but! No one else. Promise?"

"Promise."

We walk into the bookshop and greet the book keeper.

"Over here," George says, "there are so many."

"Not a parenting advice one," I say, "I don't want anyone telling me how to raise it."

"Shim."

"What?"

"She/him. Shim."

"No."

"Well, what about..."

"It," I say, pulling a book off the shelf. I flick through it and show it to George, "look, it's called an embryo."

"It's so tiny!" he coos.

We buy the book and walk home slowly. The world suddenly seems different. I feel hyper-aware of my stomach, even though the baby is barely big enough to register.