Chapter Text
She had always loved babies. She loved how much potential they had - you couldn’t help but marvel and wonder when you looked at a baby. They could grow up to be all sorts of people, they would do all sorts of things. And when Ada was dead and gone, she knew that the babies she delivered would continue going about their lives, doing things that were so far in the future that she perhaps couldn’t imagine them, never really thinking about her, but she didn’t mind. Each baby seemed, to her, to be like a little taste of adventure. Most deliveries were much the same - each with their own quirks and nuances, of course, but at the end of the day the basics repeated in an ancient rhythm. But each baby - well, you could follow each baby and get entirely different stories, entire lives twisting and turning and heading off on their own great adventure, each one unique.
But for the brief time that Ada knew those babies, all of that was a great mystery. She saw countless parents look down into their little bundled mysteries and astound themselves with the sudden swell of deep and fierce love. The parents would get to see those mysteries unravel, would follow the journies, for a time. Ada just saw them all off, and was left to wonder. She didn’t mind. It was a privilege to see them start.
She had been a midwitch for a few years now, though she was still, in comparison to some of the other witches and wizards she worked with, woefully inexperienced. Her face was not yet lined with age, her back did not ache as she contorted herself into strange positions to help her witches, and she still had the odd experience of bumping into old classmates, and realising she would likely be the one to deliver their baby. It was why she was so surprised when she was assigned to a particular couple.
Head Midwitch Irene Hebditch called her into her office one Tuesday afternoon, and offered her a cup of tea and a shortbread bat. Convinced that she was about to be laid off, or informed that she had made some sort of terrible mistake and there would be an inquiry, Ada sat quietly, and waited for Irene’s broad and sometimes stern looking (though anyone could see there was a heart of gold underneath), to speak first.
‘I have a couple to assign,’ Irene began, ‘but the circumstances require delicacy, sensitivity and, above all else, discretion.’
‘Oh,’ said Ada, who thought that all her couples deserved (and received) that. ‘More than usual?’
Never one to beat around the bush, Irene nodded and continued. ‘Both expectant parents are high profile, the father especially so. It is their first child, and there is likely to be significant media attention.’
‘Oh, I see!’ said Ada, with some relief. ‘Well, we managed with Melody Malkin, I’m sure there won’t be-’
‘I am afraid,’ said Irene, with slightly raised eyebrows, ‘that we can expectant significantly more fuss than the handful of reporters who enquired after Melody Malkin.’ She looked very closely at Ada, and hesitated slightly. ‘I have selected you - not only because you are a talented midwitch, because I do not think you will be offended when I tell you that there are others with more experience - but because having spoken to the couple for some time I thought that you might best get along with them. That the personalities might fit better than with others.’
Ada frowned, and chewed on her biscuit slowly. It was most like Irene, who brusquely told them that half their job was being likable and an instant friend to the witches that came through the door, no matter what they were like, to take such a thing into consideration. ‘In what way?’ she asked. ‘Who is this couple?’
‘The father is nervous,’ said Irene bluntly, ‘and I think both he and the mother would appreciate someone with a good sense of humour and a cheerful demeanour. Someone unflappable, but warm.’
Ada nodded. She knew better by now to bother with false modesty around Irene. ‘Well, that’s fine, I have some capacity, I think, Mrs Boreham is due next month.’
‘Good,’ said Irene. ‘But before I can tell you the couple’s names, I must ask you to fill out some paperwork. It has been requested by them.’
She pushed some official looking documents across the desk, and Ada set down her mug of tea and laughed slightly as she took them. ‘Goodness!’ she said. ‘A non-disclosure agreement? Surely it’s all covered by patient confidentiality?’
‘In this particular case, the couple is particularly concerned with privacy,’ said Irene. ‘Particularly the father.’
She looked up at Irene with a slightly amused smile. ‘When you said he was nervous…?’
‘Oh!’ said Irene, eyes widening in alarm. ‘There’s nothing scandalous! No, no, all above board, it’s just that….’ Irene seemed to take a breath, mulling over her thoughts, choosing her next words very carefully. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t describe himself as nervous. He may not even realise he is nervous. He’s simply one of those father’s who…’
‘Asks lots of questions and is convinced everything is going to go wrong?’ asked Ada primly.
‘Quite. In any case, the concern over privacy is - well, you’ll understand why at once, I think, and I don’t have any concerns over that anyway but… yes, while the mother is quite relaxed, I did rather think that the father needed someone who would be… well, like you.’
Ada smiled, picked up the quill, and happily signed her name on the contract, feeling a little bubble of excitement swell as she imagined who they might be. Melody Malkin had been so glamorous, and though naturally Ada had not indulged the press that had come round searching for details, nor had she gossiped with any of her friends, she couldn’t deny that it felt dizzying and golden to get to know someone so famous, to see her at her most emotional, her happiest day.
She handed the contract back to Irene and beamed at her. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense much longer, I can hardly stand it - who is it? Singers? Quidditch players? Politicians?’
‘Mr and Ms Potter,’ said Irene quietly.
Ada’s smile seemed to freeze on her face. ‘What?’ she said eventually. ‘As in…?’
‘Yes.’
Ada opened her mouth, but she was not quite sure what to say. This was beyond fame - beyond fleeting articles in the Prophet or special edition chocolate frog cards or wireless interviews or posing on the front cover of magazines. This was legendary importance, living historical figures. There was something eternal about them, about him in particular - simply thinking of his name felt faintly ridiculous.
She gave another slightly awkward little chuckle. ‘You may as well have told me that my patient is Merlin!’
To her surprise, Irene’s mouth twitched. ‘Do you need more time to adjust to the idea? Or would you be prepared to meet them now?’
‘Now?’ she exclaimed. ‘They’re here?’ She looked around, as though expecting to see them.
‘They’re in Room 3, yes,’ said Irene. ‘They are prepared to wait, or come back another day if necessary - they said that they understand it may be difficult to find the right person.’
She was not sure what Irene meant by this at first, for surely anyone would have leapt at the chance, but she realised far later, once she got to know the Potters, that they had probably wanted someone who did show a little consideration - who didn’t leap at the chance.
‘Let me finish my tea first,’ she said. Irene nodded, and nudged the biscuit tin towards her to take another bat.
Ten minutes later, heart thudding but trying her best to look composed, Ada followed Irene down the brightly lit corridors of St Mungos. It had been easy to be breezy and casual with Melody Malkin, even if inside she was bubbling with excitement, but this felt very different. She wanted so badly to hide it though, to give the Potters the very normal experience all her other couples had.
Irene opened the door, and the first thing Ada saw was a shock of bright red hair. Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, Ginny Potter was sitting casually on the bed, swinging her legs over the side, laughter dying happily away in her throat as she heard them enter. She was shorter than Ada had expected, but just as striking looking as she had always seemed in the pages of Witch Weekly. Ada had never managed to get her hair look so effortlessly sleek like that - she’d even tried dyeing it red once, but it just hadn’t looked right. Yet she wasn’t beautiful in an intimidating way, like Melody had been (though once she got to know her, Melody’s beauty hadn’t been intimidating at all). Ginny Potter was beautiful in a girl-next-door sort of way - friendly and warm and like you would look prettier just for standing beside her.
‘Ms Potter, Mr Potter,’ said Irene pleasantly, ‘this is Midwitch Ada Montgomery, who will be looking after you throughout the pregnancy. I will leave you all to get settled.’
She left swiftly, and it was only as she did so that Ada suddenly noticed the man in the corner, turn from the board with all the photos of babies and staff pictures, to look at her.
There he was. Harry Potter. She was not sure that she had ever fully accepted that he was a real person. Just as she had been surprised that Ginny Potter was short, she found that he was taller than she expected, and handsomer too - there was something more relaxed about his face in real life that when she had seen it in the papers or magazines, when it always seemed grim and serious and, quite frankly, cold. But he smiled at her in a friendly way, his hands buried in his pockets as he lazily wandered away from the photos, and she was struck, very intently, by how piercing his eyes were - as though they could see straight through you and read you like a book.
‘I hope you didn’t hear us as you came in,’ he said sheepishly.
‘We were searching for the weirdest looking baby,’ said Ginny Potter apologetically, though she was clearly still trying to stifle giggles.
‘Oh, not to worry - I think that’s the first thing everyone does,’ said Ada. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you both - and congratulations on your happy news.’
‘Harry,’ said Harry Potter, completely unnecessarily as he shook her hand. Now that he was close enough, just below the dark, messy hair that fell onto his forehead, she could see the jagged outline of the scar. She forced herself not to look at it.
Ginny introduced herself too, and Ada magicked up chairs for herself and Harry, before summoning tea and a large lever arch file. ‘Now, first things first - I can assure you that Irene has emphasised how important privacy is to you both, and I can assure you that it won’t be a problem here.’
Ginny Potter nodded, but Harry Potter still looked uneasy. ‘They can be… They’re not above quite underhanded tactics, you know, including spying-’
‘I assure you, Mr Potter, no one need know I am working with the pair of you besides the three of us and Irene,’ she said. ‘And everything else can be done at your home - I can come and visit you, you could have the baby there.’
‘Yes,’ he said, with a sort of rushing relief in his voice. ‘Yes, that’s what we - we hoped-’
‘I told you that was normal,’ Ginny told him reassuringly, reaching out and rubbing his shoulder. She looked at Ada with a slightly exasperated expression. ‘Apparently lots of muggles have babies in hospitals, even when there’s nothing wrong.’
‘Oh, yes, we get that a lot with our muggleborn parents,’ said Ada. ‘It is possible, if you wanted, but I think in this case with the privacy required…’
‘Yes,’ said Ginny firmly. ‘And if it would be possible for home visits rather than appointments here, that would be ideal.’
‘Of course. With that in mind, I suppose I should put some other name on your file.’
‘We’ve already thought of that,’ said Ginny Potter, a slight smirk on her face. ‘This isn’t our first hippogriff rodeo, we’re well used to going undercover. We’re happy to be Mr and Mrs Evans.’
‘Lovely,’ said Ada, writing it on the spine of the lever arch. ‘And first names? You can pick anything you want, you know, now could be the time to get creative.’
‘Oooh,’ said Ginny Potter with a slight hiss. Harry Potter was grinning knowingly at her. ‘I think I would like to be a Mrs Waynetta Evans, and I think Harry can be… Elvendork. Elvendork Evans.’
‘I knew you were going to say that,’ he said, with slight exasperation.
She liked them. She knew immediately. She liked nearly all of her couples, but some took longer than others. But she liked how surprisingly easy going they were, even if Mr Potter still seemed a little guarded. She thought that was reasonable. He was quite a private man. When it came to working out the due date, Ginny Potter had immediately said, ‘we went out for dinner with friends for Harry’s birthday and drank far too much red wine. It must have been then because I’m usually very good with the potion.’
In response, Harry Potter had gone rather red and had simply muttered, ‘end of July.’
He was, too,as nervous as Irene had warned her, but Ada immediately realised that Irene had been right - that he didn’t seem to be aware of how nervous he was. His questions were not panicked or fearful, there was no emotional outburst or wringing hands, but there was no denying that there were a lot of them. Which foods does Ginny need to be avoiding? She was drinking before we knew, will that cause problems? Do most pregnancies continue once they reach this stage? How will we know if something’s going wrong? What sort of things can go wrong?
She answered them all, calmly and brightly and without condescension or patronising reassurance. At one point, she thought she saw Ginny Potter smiling gratefully at her, and then turn to her husband. ‘You don’t need to be so doom and gloom about it, you know.’
‘I’m not!’ he said, looking genuinely surprised.
Ginny simply laughed, and looked back at Ada. ‘How big is the baby? Right now?’
‘About the size of a snitch,’ Ada said. Harry’s eyebrows raised, and he smiled broadly - he looked entirely different than Ada had ever seen him at all.
‘Really?’ he said.
She smiled at him, and reached into her canvas bag, pulling out a brass coloured pinard horn. ‘If you wouldn’t mind leaning back, Mrs Potter,’ she said.
Ginny gave Harry an excited look, and lay back on the bed - he shuffled his seat closer. With a wave of her wand, the horn floated and settled onto her, still rather flat, stomach, and within seconds the room was filled with a rapid little thumping.
‘There you are,’ said Ada briskly. ‘Sounds perfectly healthy to me.’
Ginny was beaming up at her, and then her eyes flicked down. ‘You all right?’ she asked.
Harry Potter was holding her hand, blinking rapidly as he stared at the little brass horn, like a little shiny flag over her stomach. ‘Yes,’ he said, slightly hoarsely. His fingers curled around her hand further - he was gripping her hand tightly.
He looked up at Ada. ‘And that’s normal? For it to be that fast?’
‘Perfectly,’ she assured him. ‘It’s my job to worry about things like that, Mr Potter, you just concentrate on getting the nursery set up.’
He nodded, and then grinned at his wife.
‘Can’t quite believe it?’ she asked him, a little dryly.
‘Not quite,’ he said.
All in all, thought Ada, once the appointment had come to an end and the Potters had left, she had liked them very much. She was not really sure what she had expected of war heroes - whether she had perhaps thought they would start weeping in the room, perhaps, or whether they might have seemed far older than their years. But really, she thought, all that mystery of theirs wasn’t what interested her. She was far more excited for the little mystery they were carrying, and how much they loved it already, and what sort of journey they might lead it on.
She put the folder on the large shelf in the tiny little office for all the midwitches. She half expected someone to ask her about it, to say ‘ooh, who are Mr and Mrs Evans?’ But of course they didn’t, and when Leonie asked her how her day was going, all she did was huff and say, ‘ooh, I could murder a cup of tea and slice of cake, you know.’