[Ginny Weasley]

Ginny Potter sat up straight in bed, darkness hiding her grimace of pain. The clock on the bedside table -- a delicate copper instrument displaying the movements of the tiny stars and minuscule planets in real time -- indicated it was shortly before dawn. A tiny sliver of weak blue light filtered though their bedroom curtains.

Ginny took a breath, unsure of what she'd just felt. Then --

"Ooh," she groaned, holding her swollen stomach, though it did nothing to dull the deep pelvic ache that shot though her anew. 40 weeks pregnant, Ginny had been cramping on and off for the past two days. According to the St. Mungo's healer who'd Flooed into the Potter family fireplace yesterday morning, this was a clear sign that the baby was due in any day.

"You'll just need to wait it out," the man's floating head had explained in calm tones, "until the contractions are about five minutes apart or painful enough to -- "

"Ooohhh," Ginny hissed. She curled her fingers around her husband's wrist. "Harry!"

[Harry Potter]

His wife was nine months pregnant, ready to pop like an overstuffed dirigible plum, and he was still finding it hard to believe he was finally getting a family of his own. To say he had been on high alert for the past few days was a severe understatement. He’d spent the entire weekend “baby proofing” the home, removing anything he and Ginny felt posed a threat to the baby. But nothing he felt was safe enough, not even the spoons shut away in the kitchen drawers.

It wasn’t until Ron and Hermione had stopped by to help him build the crib did he realize he might have gone overboard with wrapping everything in the home with pillows and mail packing material. Securing the cabinets, wall outlets, and table corners with smooth rounded plastic bits was all that needed to be done...apparently...according to Hermione.

After three days of unrest he’d finally managed to get a good night’s sleep when he felt the familiar grip of Ginny’s fingers curling around his wrist.

“Whozatt? What?” Harry woke with a violent start, bolting upright in a state of panic that was only appropriate for an inexperienced father to be. He fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand and slid them somewhat crookedly on his face.

“Ginny? What? What is it?" though he was still blinking the sleep out of his eyes they were laced with genuine concern for her wellbeing.

[Ginny Weasley]

“Contraction,” Ginny managed to get out through gritted teeth. She hunched forward into the pain, rubbing her stomach with a furrowed brow. Her hand tight on Harry’s, Ginny pushed in and out several even breaths until the contraction subsided.

“Oof,” she said, slowly allowing her body to relax. Years of disciplined workouts and all-weather flying with the Harpies had given Ginny some modicum of mastery over physical pain; she wondered wryly how long it would last. Breathing normally again, she looked at Harry.

His face was just visible in the dark, though only because she knew it so well. Groggy but alert, framed by his typically catastrophic bedhead, Harry looked as though he had been woken halfway through what had been promising to be his first solid sleep in several nights. Glasses off, his green eyes were filled with concern.

The sight sent a pang of affection through Ginny’s heart. Harry had been a whirlwind of nervous energy the past few weeks, battening down every hatch and wrapping every corner in bubble tape. He was a funny sort when it came to nerve-wracking moments like this one: outwardly calm, diligently preparing anything they could possibly need, focusing always on Ginny and her needs; but Ginny, Ron, and Hermione could guess fairly accurately what his buzzing energy belied. The Wizarding world’s most famous orphan was becoming a father, and it was clear how seriously Harry took that responsibility. And, too, how purely excited he was. His pride and happiness as they prepared together for parenthood had been Ginny’s absolute favorite thing to witness.

And now, it was all coming to fruition. Ginny managed a smile, affectionately cupping Harry’s stubbled jaw with her hand.

“Do you have the bags ready?” she asked. “I think - I think it’s time to Floo in.”