Vanilla

Chapter 11: September 1st, 2017 (Completed)

Harry Potter sat in his new chair, nervous. His foot was tapping quickly, echoing throughout the hall. His hands were rubbing his face raw. He looked about, taking in the familiar surroundings. But this time, it was different. He knew that from now on, things were going to be up to him. He was alone, for now. As he leaned into the high-backed chair, he reflected on his life, and the events that had lead him to sitting in this chair, right here, right now.

"Push Mrs. Potter! Push!" yelled the medi-witch.

"I AM pushing you wench! Ahhhh!" Hermione screamed in agony. "Harry! I hate you! Why did I let you talk me out of the pain numbing potions!?"

Harry sat at her bedside, sweating profusely. He couldn't feel his hand. He surmised that he probably would never feel anything with his left hand ever again. He knew for sure, even though he was rubbish with healing spells, that every bone in his hand was crushed into nothing more than dust. But he sat there, trying his best to ignore the throbbing pain coming from the extremity. The only thing he was thankful for in that circumstance was his decision NOT to use his wand hand to comfort his wife.

"Hermione, love, I believe I tried talking you IN to using..."

"You didn't try hard enough you prat! Ahhhhhh!" Hermione unceremoniously cut him off.

Harry winced, knowing that his logical and rational explanation was lost on his screaming wife.

"Almost there Mrs. Potter! Mr. Potter, would you like to see your child being born?" the medi-witch asked calmly.

Harry, unsure what he would see, agreed. Hermione released his hand, and he shook it without thinking, trying to get some sort of feeling back in it. He walked behind the medi-witch, watching and waiting in nervous anticipation for the arrival of their child.

Being the savior of the wizarding world, Harry was expected to be able to face anything, without fear. So when Harry saw something peeking out of his wife, no one in the room expected him to bat an eyelash. Harry, on the other hand, had no such illusions of himself. When he saw his child begin to emerge from his wife, he did what every great and powerful man would.

He fainted.

The resulting crash sent half of the staff to tend after Harry. The largest medi-wizard in the room dragged him over to a chair, and sat him as upright as he could.

Hermione, mid-birthing, looked over at her unconscious husband, and glared. "You pansy! You wimp! Ahhhh!"

Several minutes later, the medi-wizard enervated Harry, and he woke up startled. He looked around the room, and noticed that the chaos that had engulfed the room was no longer there.

"Good to see you're awake, Mr. Potter. Your wife was gracious enough to tell us the name you had picked before she passed out. Let me be the first to congratulate you on your son, James Sirius Potter, born at 5:28pm, on April 30th, 2003."

Harry smiled, thinking of his eldest child. He was entering his fourth year at Hogwarts. The young man looked like the perfect combination of Harry and Hermione, which meant young James looked a lot like his paternal grandfather and namesake. The messy-black hair, tall, slender build, and smart as a whip. The only difference between Harry's son and Harry's father, was that the son had the same chocolate-colored eyes as his mother.