A/N This was written as Chrissie pressie for my long suffering PS beta Sarah who asked for a fic where Ginny's pregnancy was viewed from Harry's POV.
"Everything seems to be fine, Mrs Potter," said the Mediwitch. "I'll see you again at the same time next week, okay?"
"That should be fine," replied Ginny with a yawn.
"Do try and get some rest, Mrs Potter. Baby won't thank you if you're charging around the place."
"Well, if baby wants its rest then it should bloody well stop thrashing around at night."
Harry forced himself not to laugh. The last thing he wanted was to further annoy his wife, especially after the Mediwitch had done such a good job. Ginny would spend the next few hours raging against the medical profession and the way they prodded and poked her and subjected her to all kinds of indignity. They had changed Mediwitches several times at her insistence. The first seemed too star struck to be able to cope with looking after Mrs Potter and the second got the sack when Ginny found out she had had no children of her own.
"How am I supposed to believe any thing she says when the woman hasn't been through this herself?" she had demanded quite reasonably.
Ginny had managed her demanding schedule quite well through the early months of her pregnancy. She had been able to keep up with being the wife and business manager of England's number one Quidditch player fairly easily. In recent weeks, she'd found the whole thing a bit more of a strain but his imploring her to slow down or even go on maternity leave had been given short shrift initially.
"I am not some bloody invalid who needs to be wrapped in cotton wool. And the sooner you realise that the better."
Harry knew that arguing was pointless and had instead retreated to the kitchen to make some hot chocolate for her and present it along with an offer of a foot massage.
A few hours later, after the Mediwitch had finished prodding and poking his wife, Harry took his wife in his arms and hugged her. Hugging was getting harder and harder to do as the bump in front of her grew bigger and bigger. Not that Harry had any complaints about the change in his wife's figure. He couldn't explain why but he found the more rounded shape of her body even more alluring than before. It wasn't even down to the increased size of her boobs. Much as Harry had enjoyed the new experience of a well-endowed wife, he took the greatest pleasure from the growing bump that Ginny moaned made her feel like a whale. Perhaps it was the fact that the whole experience made her seem more womanly to him, he didn't know.
"Well, at least I know you'll love me when I'm old and fat," his wife had responded after initially calling him a pervert when he confessed his new found appreciation of her body.
As Christmas approached, Ginny had finally begun to wind down her involvement with the running of Harry's affairs, leaving the rest of the agency to take up the slack. He had suggested, not unreasonably, that they hire a PA to take over some of her duties. Ginny relented once Harry had agreed to hire a frumpy middle-aged witch on the basis that she would allow no one under the age of forty anywhere near him. When he'd had complained that she was being unreasonable, she refused to budge.
"I am not having you working with some twenty-something with a figure to die for whilst I'm stuck at home with my stomach all stretched and sagging and tits leaking milk all over the place. Unless, of course," she teased, "that's part of your new-found fetish?"
The visit by the Mediwitch had left Ginny in a foul mood and so he spent the next few hours fussing around Ginny whilst trying to give the impression that he wasn't doing anything of the sort. It was the best method he'd found of dealing with her touchiness at being treated differently and led to her complaining that he didn't really care.
"Of course I don't care," he'd reply to her whinging. "You're just a fat old thing who doesn't fit into any of her clothes except those that come with poles and guy ropes."
"Hey! Less of the fat. You didn't think I was too fat last night."
"Ah, but now I've had my wicked way with you, I don't have to be nice to you any more."
"I'll remember that next time. You don't really think I'm fat do you, Harry?"
He let his hand run across the fundus before kissing it.
"I think you're beautiful, Ginny, and you get more beautiful every day."
"Well, shows how much you know, Mr Potter. Have you seen the size of my ankles?"
Despite her continued whinging, Ginny's mood improved, helped by a long foot massage and later further proof that he didn't find her too fat.
The next day was Christmas Eve and they were able to spend the day putting up the decorations and sorting out the tree.
"This will be the last Christmas we'll be able to put the tree up this late," Harry said. "I can't see our little bundle of joy waiting until Christmas Eve before putting the decorations up."
"Well, they'll have to learn," insisted Ginny. "Twelve days is long enough, I'm not stretching it out for the whole of December as well."
During the course of the day, several owls arrived from friends inviting them over for drinks, but all were politely declined. Flooing had become increasingly unpleasant for Ginny and it was only under sufferance that she'd agreed to Floo to The Burrow for Christmas dinner. They spent the evening doing last minute wrapping and placing the presents under the tree.
"You know, I can't believe it," said Ginny shaking her head. "The little tyke hasn't yet been born and they've still more presents than most of us put together."
"Well, you know whose fault that is don't you?"
"My mother's! There's at least four here from her."
Harry laughed before walking over to the tree and picking up a handful of presents.
"To my little bundle of joy, love Mummy. Happy Christmas sweetheart, love from Mummy. Happy first Christmas little one–" Harry's recitation was interrupted by a flying roll of spellotape that he caught expertly before tossing playfully back at his wife.
"Okay, I bought a few of them."
"A few, Ginny? A few? There are eleven or twelve not counting the ones you've hidden away."
She blushed momentarily before going back on the offensive.
"Hey, they were in my knicker drawer." Her eyes narrowed and regarded him suspiciously. "What were you doing in my knicker drawer; is that another one of your fetishes?"
"No, I was checking what size you were now so that what I bought you would fit."
"Harry, you are not buying me any sexy underwear, do you understand me? "
"The answer's 'No,' Harry. It'll look like two rubber bands on an egg. If you want to buy me something useful, buy me some big maiden aunt ones."
"Ooo, big knickers, my favourite," laughed Harry.
"Potter, I give up with you. Come on, let's call it a night."
"Ooo, Christmas comes early then?" said Harry, grinning from ear to ear.
"No, Harry, it means that your wife is knackered and needs a full night's sleep if she is going to survive tomorrow." As if to emphasise her point she yawned loudly and made her way into their bedroom.
Harry awoke with a start, conscious that there was a light on in the room. Reaching over he found that Ginny was not in the bed. Putting on his glasses and pulling on his dressing gown, he padded out of the door and into the living room. Ginny was pacing back and forth, her hand in the middle of her back, her face a mask of pain.
"Is it time, Ginny?"
"I'm not sure, they could be contractions but as I've never had any, I don't really know."
"I'll Floo St Mungo's. "
"Harry, it's the middle of the night."
"I've noticed. It's a hospital, Ginny, someone will be around."
The Healer arrived and after examining Ginny turned to address Harry. "Your wife is fine, Mr Potter, and not in labour. False labour pains are not unusual at this stage."
"I'm still here you know," called a voice from the kitchen.
The next day a very sleepy couple stumbled out of the fireplace at The Burrow. To Ginny's dismay and Harry's anger the house was full of relatives and their plans for a family-only Christmas dinner lay in pieces.
"Oh, don't worry, Ginny dear," said her mum when confronted about it. "They're all friendly; they won't bother you too much."
But most of the relatives appeared to have come just to see the couple, and Harry began to wish that they had had stayed at home. As three o'clock approached he had decided that enough was enough and searched the kitchen and living room for his wife but couldn't find her. Eventually he tried her old bedroom and found her curled up on her old bed fast asleep. He cast a locking charm on the door and lay down next to her. As he did so, she stirred briefly.
"It's ok, sweetheart. There's no need to get up yet."
"My mum... she'll be –"
"Your mum shouldn't have invited all these people. You get some rest and I'll come back up in a few hours."
Harry let his hands rest on her belly and felt a kick from the unborn child. Ginny stretched and yawned.
"Don't go, Harry."
"You need your rest."
"I know I do, but you try telling that to the Bludger that's rolling around inside me."
Harry saw the baby shift positions and could only guess what his wife was going through.
"Does that hurt?"
"Not really, it's just uncomfortable."
He could see how tired she was; her face was pale and her eyes were red, but he knew that until the baby settled down ,she was not likely to get any rest. He lay down next to her and for the next half hour they played their favourite game: name the baby.
"What about Amy?" asked Ginny.
"For a boy or a girl?"
"Girl, stupid. I quite like it."
"So all the kids are going to have names that end in an 'ee' sound like their parents, are they? Amy, Louie, Barry, Tawnee."
"Tawnee's not a name; it's a type of owl. And who said anything about more kids? I'm all for indulging my husband's predilections, but I'd rather just wear sexy knickers than get pregnant on a regular basis."
"And I thought you loved me, Ginny."
"You think I'd go through this for anyone I didn't love?"
It was good to see Ginny laugh. Over the last few weeks, lack of sleep and the sensation of feeling stuffed to the gills had made his wife's laughter a rare commodity. He had a sense that he was losing the woman that he had married. She would never be just his, there would always be another person competing for attention. Her body, which had been transformed by her pregnancy, wouldn't be the same again after the birth and after their son or daughter had been breast fed.
He had spent a great deal of time talking to Ron about the joys of fatherhood and found him to be fairly sanguine about the intrusion of a new person into his life with Hermione.
"Nothing can beat the fact that between you, you have created a new life and it's totally dependant on the pair of you for everything. Don't worry about it mate, you'll love the kid as much as you do Ginny."
When he had asked Ron about the resumption of 'marital relations' after the birth his friend had nearly choked on his Butterbeer.
"Blimley, mate! I thought we agreed that I didn't want to know about what you got up to with my sister and I kept quiet about me and Hermione."
"I don't want to know what you do or anything, I just wanted to know how long you had to wait until after the birth before you could, you know."
"Merlin, Harry, you are a randy git. No wonder she's tired all the time. Don't you ever stop thinking about getting your end away?"
"I can't believe you're asking me this."
"And I can't believe you're not giving me an answer."
"Six weeks. You're supposed to wait six weeks. But I warn you mate, don't get your hopes up."
"Why ever not?"
"Because unless you're built like King Kong, it'll be like making love to Wookey Hole."
Harry stared incredulously at his friend, his mouth wide open.
"Well, you asked. I tell you, mate, it takes a while before things settle down. And then you have to put up with a wife who is knackered all the time and the only thing she wants to do in bed is sleep."
Harry looked down at his now sleeping wife and smiled. He knew that their lives were going to be turned upside down by their new arrival. But he also knew that it was what he wanted more than anything else in the world.
The New Year came and went without so much as a by-your-leave and the Potters ticked off the days with a rising sense of anticipation. When her due date arrived, Ginny rechecked the arrangements with Harry. She was giving birth at home and St Mungo's had to be contacted once her contractions were about five minutes apart. All being well, their child would arrive a few hours after that. Then they could spend the next few days getting used to being parents before the England Quidditch match on the Saturday. As she checked the bag which she would take to St Mungo's if an emergency came up, she patted her stomach and spoke to her unborn child.
"Now remember that little talk we had? Daddy has an important game this weekend and so Mummy would appreciate it if you came out on time, okay?"
But the day came and went and a pair of disappointed Potters ticked off another day on the calendar and went to bed.
Harry was aware of a light on in the room and movement by their chest of drawers. Finding his glasses, he saw his wife rummaging through them, pulling clothes out left right and centre. He grabbed his alarm clock and swore.
"Ginny, it's four o' clock in the bloody morning! Can you not confine your nesting activities to a more sociable hour? I've got a game in ten hours in case you've forgotten."
"Well, let's hope your son or daughter gets a move on then," she replied sarcastically.
"Yes! My waters have broken and I'll be buggered if I can find–" her face was suddenly a mask of pain and her breathing became more laboured. Harry scrambled out of bed and went to help his wife breathe through her contraction. Once she'd finished, he quickly found her another nightie and went to fetch her a drink.
"Not sure why I'm bothering with a clean one," she said, pulling the knee-length garment over her head, "as this one will be a mess within a few hours anyway."
"Do you want to lie down?" asked Harry, anxious for something useful to do.
"No, it's easier if I can walk around. You go and Floo St Mungo's; I'll be fine."
Five minutes later, two Mediwitches stepped into the Potters' flat and began to examine Ginny. "Your wife is five centimetres dilated, Mr Potter. All being well, the baby will be born within four hours and you can both grab some sleep before the game."
But four hours later, Ginny was still only seven centimetres and the Mediwitches had been joined by two male colleagues.
"I think we should induce you, Mrs Potter," said one.
"Certainly," agreed the other.
"Is the baby at risk then?" asked a worried Harry.
"No," interrupted the older Mediwitch, "they just want England to win, and to them that means you playing Seeker, Mr Potter."
"Come on, Harry, I mean, Mr Potter. You have to play; we can't let the Germans beat us again."
"Sorry," said Harry, "if my wife and the baby are taking their time, then we wait. Cho will have to play instead of me."
The two wizards let out a loud groan and slunk off back to the hospital.
Two more hours had passed and Ginny was still not fully dilated. They were now joined by Healer Higgingbottom who, after a thorough examination of her, failed to find any non-Quidditch reason why Mrs Potter should be induced and returned to tell his male colleagues the bad news.
At eleven o'clock Ginny was finally fully dilated and to the relief of everyone, not least the mother-to-be, at eleven twenty-six Elizabeth Mary Potter came into the world. At one o'clock, satisfied that mother and baby were doing well, and reassured by a beaming Molly Weasley, Harry Potter arrived in Nordfriesland in time to join his England colleagues in the win that sealed their trip to the World Cup Finals.