Molly Weasley rested a hand lightly on her back as she stood in the kitchen. In the humid air of early August, she felt doused in sweat, and her hair stuck out at odd angles.
She could feel the heat all around her face—oh, what a horrid feeling it was. She fanned herself, leaning lightly against the kitchen counter, and wondered, yet again, how she had survived the pregnancy of her first six children.
But none of them were summer babies, she reminded herself. Indeed, Bill had been in January, Charlie in November, Percy in February, Fred and George in April, and Ron in March. She had never had to live through the intense heat of summer in addition to being so near to her due date.
She patted her stomach, smiling. A girl. When she had performed the charm to determine the sex of the baby, she had been sure she had done something wrong. But she hadn't. She, Molly Weasley, was going to have a little girl, any day now.
Hopefully, Molly told herself, as she sighed again. Her midwife had quit at the last moment—a woman who had helped deliver all her babies. "I just have too much going on," the midwife had said, when she had called to inform Molly that she wouldn't be delivering the little girl.
Hmph, Molly thought to herself. Leaving an eight and a half month pregnant woman without a midwife at the last moment!
Molly felt annoyed all over again. She had to stop herself from screaming when she had read the midwife's letter, and had sent a very cold response back.
Now she and Arthur were in the process of trying to find someone else they trusted to deliver the children.
Molly had heard somewhere that the more children one had, the easier the labour and birth became. For Molly, it seemed quite the opposite.
Bill had been a relatively easy labour—in fact, she remembered thinking something along the lines of, That's all? Charlie's was harder, and Percy's harder than that. And Fred and George, well, having two was no picnic, Molly could tell anyone.
Ron had been the most excruciating of all. Molly had been in labour with him for over twenty four hours. The midwife had wanted to magically remove the baby, but Molly refused. Not only were there risks in that sort of birth, she wanted to have all her children completely naturally.
And now, another child, already promising to be the most ferocious of all, if she followed the same trend as her brothers did.
Yes, a midwife was certainly necessary.
Arthur was, at that moment, speaking to a woman that had expressed interest in the position. Molly knew she should go join him—she had only come into the kitchen to bring out some drinks to serve.
Upstairs, Fred and George were having their own conversation.
The four-year-olds were most serious in their discussion. They sat together on Fred's bed, holding up an intense conversation.
"I don't want a new baby," Fred said, defiantly.
"Yeah," George replied. "It's going to be a girl."
The twins looked at each other and simultaneously said, "Ewwww."
"She won't want to do anything fun," Fred decided.
"She'll probably want to play with dolls," said George, scornfully.
"And she'll never stop crying."
"And she'll always be hungry."
"And we'll have to be quiet."
"And she'll smell."
"I don't want her," declared George. "Can't we stop mum from having her?"
Fred looked unsure. "I don't think so. I think she's coming, whether we want her or not."
"Nuh-uh," said George. "There has to be something we can do." He furrowed his brow in concentration. "I got it!"
"What?" asked Fred, eagerly.
"Remember that lady that came when Mum had Ron?" asked George.
"Well, Mum called her a midlife, or something like that. Remember how last week Mum was screaming because she'd quit?"
Fred nodded again.
"And now she's trying to find another midlife. So, I'll bet that if we want to stop the baby…"
"We have to make sure there's no midlife!" announced Fred, triumphantly.
"Yeah!" cried George. He paused. "But how do we do that?"
Fred looked at his twin and grinned. "Just follow my lead…"
Laura Heights sat nervously outside the door to the closed study. She wondered if Mr and Mrs Weasley would pick her – she desperately needed the money, no matter how little they could pay.
She loved children, and she loved her job. But lately, the baby boom seemed to have settled down, and there were less jobs than before.
Two young children wandered into the hallway. They were exactly alike, from their blue shirts and shorts to the identical grins on their faces.
"I'm Fred," said one, loudly.
"And I'm George," said the other.
Fred, George, Laura thought to herself. She smiled at them. They were cute – in an impish sort of way. They looked like a real handful.
"Hello, there," she said, cheerfully.
"Are you going to be the midlife?" asked Fred, bluntly. His twin looked at Laura for an answer.
She smiled kindly. "That's midwife," she corrected him, gently. "And hopefully, I'll help your mum bring a beautiful baby girl into the world."
"Are you going to bring a suitcase, like the other midlife did?" asked Fred, with a completely straight face.
George doesn't seem to talk very much, she thought to herself. She laughed. "Well, I'll probably only be here for a few hours. I don't think there will be any need for a suitcase."
"Nuh-uh," said George, speaking up. "The other midlife brought a suitcase."
Laura felt a little confused. "What do you mean, a suitcase?" she asked. "Do you mean medical supplies?"
"No," said Fred, as if it were quite obvious. "A suitcase with clothes and a toothbrush."
"Well, I hardly expect to be spending the night," laughed Laura.
"The other midlife did!" said George. "She stayed more than one night."
A confused look passed over Laura's face. "What do you mean? Did she stay to help your mum recover from your brother's birth?"
"No," said Fred. "Ron wasn't even born yet. Dad was always complaining."
"He said she had been in labour for nearly three days already, and shouldn't that baby have popped out by now?" Fred said, with a perfectly straight face.
"Three days?" asked Laura. "I'm sure you must be exaggerating."
"No, we're not exagarating," said George. "Mum said we took even longer. Because we're twins," he added, with a faint note of pride.
"L-longer than three days?" questioned Laura, feeling a little apprehensive.
"Dad said Mum is a medical miracle. He says Mum has been in the Wizard Genius Book of World Records for longest labour."
"The Guinness Book of World Records?" asked Laura, faintly.
George nodded empathetically.
"And my older brother Charlie says that she screams very, very loudly. Like this," said Fred. He let out a glass shattering shrill scream. "I remember. She was doing that the whole time she was with the midlife."
Laura was starting to feel very ill.
Just then, Mr. Weasley popped his head out the door. "Laura, dear, my wife and I have been talking, and we believe you'd be a perfect midwife for our child. Granted, my wife's labours are getting increasingly harder, but we believe you can handle it."
Laura turned a pale shade of green.
"I'm sorry…I don't think…that I can do it…I'm…getting sick," she managed to throw out, before running out of the house.
Arthur shook his head. "What a strange woman."
"Will we need to interview more midwives now, Arthur?" asked Molly, and Arthur nodded.
"I'll take out an ad in the Daily Prophet tomorrow," he said.
Fred and George looked at each other.
"You just can't beat ‘em," said Fred.
"Mum, can I teach the baby to play Quidditch?" asked George, following his mother.
"And will she say ‘bloody' like Bill sometimes does?"
"Do I have to help change her diapers?"
"Are you going to put a silencing charm on her?"
author's notes: It's simply been a bunny that was in my head for the longest time, so I decided I'd satisfy it by writing the story.