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Chapter 1 : Why is it taking so long?
| ||Rating: 12+||Chapter Reviews: 11|
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After hours of waiting, and trying to stay calm, Ron Weasley paced back and forth in the waiting area of St. Mungo's. The most sleep he had gotten in the past twenty four hours was a few minutes of dozing off in an uncomfortable†hospital chair. He ran his hand through his fiery red hair, and checked his watch once more. Barely a minute had passed since the last time he had checked. What was taking so long?
"Ron, calm down, mate. Everything's fine," Harry said, as he offered his best friend a cup of coffee.
"Fine? How can you say everything's fine? Is it supposed to take this long?" Ron cried.
"You need to sit down and stop panicking. The healers know what they're doing," Harry replied, gesturing towards a chair.
"They know what they're doing. Okay. Calm down," Ron muttered to himself, finally sitting down.
"Hey, Ron. Everything okay?" a heavily pregnant Ginny said as she came in the room, sitting down next to him.
"I just want to see her," he said, looking at his sister.
"I know. And you will, soon. I bet she's doing great. She was always tougher than you," Ginny said with a grin, lightly punching her brother on the arm.
He smiled, but was too preoccupied to think of a retort.
"Where's James?" Harry asked.
"Mum's with him. He fell asleep a few minutes ago," she said, resting a hand on her belly.
Ron put his head in his hands, wondering how they could all be so relaxed. He wanted to know what was happening, how she was.
"Mr. Weasley?"†Ron looked up to the healer wearing blue hospital robes, who stood in the doorway. "Your wife wants to see you."
Ron stood on shaky legs, and followed the healer back to where his wife would be waiting for him. When he finally got to her, a grin lit up his tired face. There she was, his wonderful Hermione, holding a tiny baby in her arms. Her brown hair was messy, and her face gleamed with sweat. She had never looked more beautiful. She looked up at him with a huge smile on her face, and tears glistening in her eyes.
"Do you want to meet our daughter?" she asked him.
"We- we have a daughter?" he said, the amazement clear in his voice.
"Yes," she said, handing him the little girl. "I thought we could call her Rose, after my Gran."
She was smaller than anything he had ever seen, and he held her gingerly, like he was afraid he might break her. She was asleep, wrapped up in a fuzzy, white blanket, but when he took her, she woke up, and looked at him through soft, brown eyes and long lashes. Her plump, pink lips formed a smile that he couldn't help but return.
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