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12 July 2007 @ 02:38 pm
Hands: Ch10: Shirt  
Fandom: Harry Potter
Title: Hands, Chapter Ten: Shirt
Characters/Pairing: Ron/Luna
Prompt: 320: Shirt
Word Count: 1577
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Hands are the window to the soul.
A/N: I’m terrible at finishing things, and I always feel awkward while writing the ending to a story, but, nevertheless, I am rather proud of this chapter (and this entire story for that matter), and I can only hope you enjoy reading it. Depending on how book seven ends, you can most likely expect to see a few one-shots about the future of the new Weasley family.

Thanks for reading!

Chapter Ten: Shirt

Her shirt no longer fit her. It wouldn’t stretch over the bulge of her stomach (at least not in anyway that looked decent).  Her wand stuck behind her ear, she exited the room and returned a few minutes later wearing a white, loose shirt embroidered with daisies.

“It was my mother’s,” she said simply. “Daddy told me she used to wear it when she was pregnant with me, and that’s why I look like a daisy. He used to wrap me in it when I was a baby–we have pictures.”

He nodded, his eyes focused on her belly. She was six months pregnant and he could easily tell that a baby was in there, somewhere, and a knot began to form in his throat. “Should we go to Diagon Alley to buy some new clothes?”

She thought for a second, her head cocked to the side. Her wand slipped out from behind her ear and rolled onto the floor. He handed it back to her, as she said “We could. I have plenty of Mum’s clothes to wear, but they smell like her.”

He waited a second for her to elaborate, and when she didn’t, he said, “Right, we could get some lunch while we’re out, too.”

She smiled excitedly. “Can we get some ice cream?”

“We can get ice cream instead of lunch . . . .”

* * *
Although Luna was not as enthusiastic about shopping as other women, Diagon Alley housed enough maternity and baby stores to keep her occupied for two hours, and after two hours, Ron felt an ice-cream was well deserved.

They stood in line at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour (which had fortunately reopened after the end of the Second War), perusing the menu to find the right flavor for that particular Summer afternoon.

“I’ll have peanut butter with a scoop of strawberry,” said Ron, and, although he knew what Luna was going to order (she always asked for radish ice cream with rainbow sprinkles), he turned to her expectantly.

She eyed the menu with her finger on her chin. “I’ll have . . . vanilla.”

Ron’s eyebrows furrowed together in curiosity. “Just vanilla?” he asked. “Not radish, or something weird?”

“No, just vanilla.”

He looked at her a second longer, and then shrugged. She was pregnant, and weren’t pregnant women supposed to have weird cravings? Vanilla may not seem weird to most, but for Luna it was outrageously abnormal. It was a small reminder of how much things were going to change because of this baby.

The room next to theirs was all ready being redecorated to accommodate the new addition to their family. Luna’s body was changing–her skin glowed and her breasts were larger (not that he was going to complain about that, but it was still something about Luna that was different). He knew she wasn’t sleeping well either, because he could feel her shifting about at night, trying to find a comfortable spot.

And that was only Luna; his mother was changing too. Just the other day she cornered him in the kitchen trying to discuss baby names (“You know the name Mafalda has been in the family for years!”). He would look up every so often and find her staring at him with tears in her eyes, and she would smooth his hair down saying, “You’re going to be the best father, dear. I just know it.”

Being the youngest boy, the sudden attention had felt rather nice for the first few weeks. Now, it was getting annoying and he almost wished the baby would just come out now, so they could be done with it all . . . .

Luna licked her spoon happily. Suddenly, she gasped in surprise, her hand flying to her stomach.

“What’s wrong?” he asked worriedly.

She smiled serenely, her fingers splayed comfortably over her tummy. “He doesn’t like vanilla much . . . .”

“How can you tell?”

“He kicked me very angrily . . . .”

* * *

As the months passed, Luna experienced more trouble falling asleep at night. She would shift and squirm, pulling the blanket up to her neck, shoving it off of her, and then grabbing it again and placing it over her feet. It was often three o’clock in the morning before she would finally drift away from consciousness–and when her breathing would even out and her body would relax, he’d turn on his side and watch her, his eyes inevitably falling to her swollen belly. Once or twice, he’d find his hand placed protectively over her stomach, and he could feel the baby squirm under the added heat of his palm. There was a constant mixture of fear, nervousness, and delight roiling throughout his body.

* * *

The due date loomed ever closer. It was, in fact, one day away.

Luna woke up at seven, her eyes blinking against the morning sunlight. She stretched, the movement awakening her husband, who jolted up, mumbling, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing really, although I’m a bit hungry. For bacon. I’m a bit hungry for bacon.”

He yawned, looking at the clock. “Mum should be up by now, if you want to got the Burrow for breakfast . . . .”

She was all ready getting dressed, and it was only ten minutes later when they arrived at the Burrow. His mother was awake, and breakfast was sizzling away on the stove. She was delighted to see them and wasted no time in preparing a plate for each of them, watching as Ron gobbled down his first helping and moved onto seconds.

Mrs. Weasley placed another egg on the his plate, shaking her head at her son’s infinite ability to eat. “There’ll be no more eggs left in the country by the time you’re finished,” she said. Sitting down to eat her own breakfast, she asked Luna how she was feeling.

“Quite wonderful,” she replied.

“The big day’s almost here, isn’t it?”

“Yes . . . in fact . . . I think . . . .” Luna placed her rasher of bacon back onto her plate, her voice failing away into a small whisper. “I think it’s here.”

It took five seconds for the full meaning of her words to sink in . . . and Ron was standing up, his breakfast forgotten, expect for a piece of bacon still sticking out of his mouth.  He chewed it quickly, leading Luna towards the fireplace. His mother was spouting off instructions and reassurances.

He didn’t hear any of them, as the fire whooshed into action and he said, “St. Mungo’s Maternity Ward.”

* * *

His hand hurt, but he let Luna clutch onto it anyway, as another contraction swept over her, and when her hand went limp in his own, he held it tighter, noticing that her fingers were cold. Her cheeks were pink and her face glistened with a thin sheen of perspiration. She smiled gratefully at him, her eyes wide and sparkling.

She must have noticed the uncertainty and fear in his face, because she leaned back to look at his eyes and she said, “Ronald, I know you think you won’t make a very good father.” He opened his mouth to protest. “And I know you’re going to tell me that you don’t . . . but I want you to know that you will make a good father, because you’re brave and honest, and I believe in you, and even though you don’t always believe in what I believe, you try and if our son believes something you don’t quite understand, you’ll let him believe it and you’ll try to understand because you love him, and that’s all that really matters, Ronald . . . and of course I’ll be there to help you . . . I lo–”

Another contraction came before she could continue. He wasn’t sure if he should say something in return, so he just smiled comfortingly and brushed a piece of hair off of her forehead. Her words had allayed the nerves jumping around in his stomach, and when his ears were filled with the cries of a newborn baby, he nearly laughed with relief.

“Blimey,” he said, as the baby was placed in Luna’s arms. He sat on the bed next to her and smiled widely. “Blimey,” he said again.

Luna frowned. “I think he inherited my eyes. I hope he doesn’t mind–they are quite large . . . .”

“They’re nice,” he said, reaching out to touch the baby. The baby latched his tiny hand around his finger. “Er, do you think we should name him now? Or do you want to wait?”

She looked thoughtfully at the baby in her arms.

The baby looked thoughtfully at his mother.

“How about Cloud?” she said, finally.

“It’s good, but, um, we should probably choose something a little more . . . traditional.”

“Yes, I suppose. Other kids might make fun of the name ‘Cloud,’ and I wouldn’t want our son to get made fun of. It’s not actually much fun to get made fun of, you know.”


“How about Jonathan then?”

He wasn’t quite sure where she had gotten the name “Jonathan,” but if she liked it (and she wouldn’t have suggested it if she didn’t like it) then it sounded perfect to him. “All right then. Jonathan Cloud Weasley. How’s that sound?”

“Beautiful,” said Luna. She looked at Jonathan’s hand wrapped around his father’s finger. “He likes your hands. I like your hands, too, Ronald.”

“I like your hands,” he replied, kissing Luna’s cheek.

There was a hushed silence in the room which would have been slightly oppressing and uncomfortable, but all Ron could feel, at that moment, as he looked down at his wife and son, was interminable pride and a wealth of joy.

The End.
Kevinkadgarth on September 13th, 2007 10:09 pm (UTC)
Hey there
I just finished reading every chapter of your story. It was marvelous :)

I really enjoyed it, I can't wait to read more of your work.

Nice job ^_^
Daisy Millerdaisy_miller on September 14th, 2007 11:32 am (UTC)
Re: Hey there
Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it. :)