Evan Rosier (Harry Potter Fanfic/ Prequel)

86 | An Infant is Born

"No, no, don't tell us the gender yet," Evan says before I can ask the Mediwizard. I smile at the Mediwizard, silently telling him that we will wait. After all, this sucker will be out in just three more months.

We've been telling our regular Mediwizard that we didn't want to know the gender yet, but this new one was so close to blurting it out. Luckily, Evan stopped him in time. His cheeks brighten a  bit and he stumbles to apologize to the big, intimidating Evan Rosier, but Evan waves him off like it isn't important. "All we want to know right now if she's healthy."

"He," I correct, then force an apologetic look to the miserable looking Mediwizard. "It?"

"The fetus is in good shape," he says, regaining his composure. "It's getting bigger every day, it looks like. I can tell how well both of you are taking this. Arabelle, you have taken your vitamins every day, I suspect?"

"Every day," I confirm proudly. 

"Then, by the end of this month, he or she shall be twelve to fourteen inches long and will weigh almost two pounds." I gape at my stomach, which seems so big that it could carry a soccer ball, but no. This baby is already the size of a head of kale- or that's what the Mediwizard told us. But that's nothing compared to how big it will be at forty weeks... It should be the size of a watermelon. How am I supposed to fit that in my belly?!

Sometimes I get really stressed about it, but Evan's always there. If he somehow isn't able to comfort me, Cassia or Cynthia will be here. I'm never alone, just in case I fall or something. If that happens, Evan will kill me- but only after I'm done beating myself up over it. I still can't believe how fast I'm growing. This is definitely worse than puberty.

Evan holds my hand, sensing the clamminess must be a part of my overthinking again. The Mediwizard shows a graph (which thankfully doesn't have the baby's parts) to reassure us how well we are both doing. "Just remember to keep track of your blood pressure, and don't lose your head if you find yourself forgetting things. It's all natural."

That's when we are dismissed. The Mediwizards have us use Floo Powder instead of Apparation- as they make all pregnant females do after their third pregnancy month. It has something to do with the baby, of course, but I can't remember the details exactly. It just sounds smart, alright? I trust the docs.

When we Floo in our house, Evan has me sit down while he makes chamomile tea. I'm not a big fan but the Mediwizards said it soothes aches, helps me sleep, and reduces stress. To avoid Evan getting upset, I drink it every time he makes it- which is a lot. But I can't complain even though I'm on a strict diet that consists of actually pretty good food- but hardly anything that satisfies my cravings. 

And I've been craving something spicy- something really spicy.

~ * ~ *

(October of 1980)

"Just get it out, damn you!"

"Belle, precious, the light of my life, please calm down-"

"Calm down?!"

"Just keep pushing, ma'am-"

"How about I stick a watermelon up your-"

"One more push-"

"-genitals and make you sit here and push it back out?!"

"You're doing great, Belle, keep going. Look, easy as pie, it's going great."

"I DON'T SEE YOU DOING ANY WORK!"

"And she's out. Alright, we'll clean her off- yep, thank you, Greta." The Mediwizard takes the now clean infant from the female nurse and grins at Evan, who is wiping off beads of sweat from his forehead. "Missus (L/N) and Mister Rosier, here she is." He hands Evan the baby, which is wrapped in a yellow-striped blanket that looks so soft.

My eyes start to close, but I force them open to stay awake. I won't ever get this moment again so I might as well cherish it.

A true, heartbreaking smile forms on Evan's lips. He gently gives me my baby. It's perfect, even though it looks a tiny bit like a peanut. I pet its small head, soothing its cries and Evan pauses. "Doc, did you say she?"

I gape at the Mediwizard, and he nods with a proud grin. "Indeed I did. She's extremely healthy at seven and three quarters pounds. You ought to be one proud mama."

As I hold the girl, I start to cry. Evan rushes to my side, but its too late. The tears are running down my cheeks and the baby blanket is muffling my sobs. "She's healthy, honey, there's no need to cry!"

"I'm sure it's happy tears, sir," the Mediwizard cuts in. "I'll let you two have your moment. You'll probably remember this your entire life." He and the nurses leave with heartfelt, ardent smiles.

"So, it's a girl, Evan."

He grins. "(Y/N), that will be her name."

(Y/N) snuggles deeper into the blanket and I sniff. That's you, in my arms right there. I'm so proud.

~ * ~ *

"Oh my god, she's smiling at me," Evan calls while I fix up your formula. Normally, breast milk is the way to go but not today. I thought we should at least try the formula. I want to see how you like it. 

At two weeks old, you seem to be doing absolutely nothing besides loving on us, eating, and pooping. It's hard to tell if you sleep these days, but you must be. Maybe you finally quiet down when Evan and I occasionally pass out from exhaustion. You sure are a lot to handle, but luckily, Cynthia comes often to check on us. Terence, who is already almost a year old, loves to come over and be fed and play with you, but you can't really do anything but smile just yet. 

"What is the great old Evan doing that makes her smile?" I tease from the kitchen, mixing up the formula. It's enough to last for today. We have to feed you every three to four hours, like our Mediwizard suggested. You seem to be doing fine.

"I'm rattling one of her toys," he says, a rare, goofy smile on his face. I walk in the living room with the formula and scoop you up from Evan's arms.

"Playtime's over," I say, pretending to be sad for my little girl. You stare blankly at me, and I force myself to smile. Sometimes you can make me uncomfortable, because you seem to like Evan more than me. I push away the negative thoughts and gently push the tiny sucker to my baby's lips, inviting you to sip on the bottle. 

Evan sighs. "You're getting better at this everyday," he informs me while watching me work. I respond with a humble smile.

When you are full, I tuck the bottle away and sit with you on the couch. "It just takes a little bit of convincing her. She doesn't seem to be the hungriest at this time." We're about to put you to sleep, at seven in the evening. You seem to be responding well to the milk. 

I stand up very softly and lead you to our bedroom, where your crib is for now. When you get to two months, we'll move your crib to your own nursery room. 

Your eyes flutter a bit when I lay you down and tuck you into your new favorite blanket (it has palm trees on them. You love palm trees and we don't know why). Within moments, you doze off.

Evan and I smile at each other, and I finally let myself rest in our bed. This is only the third good night we've had. The others have been... for lack of better words, torture, but we're all getting the hang of it.

And you'll continue to grow along with your parents, who couldn't be more proud of their little love.

~ * ~ *

Published 9-20-20