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the-al-chemist · 2 years ago

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The Smallest Victory

A/N: today was Artemis’ 50th birthday, and to celebrate I decided to publish the story of her 27th birthday, and someone else’s birth. It also fits the theme of @hp-12monthsofmagic: Victory! Hope you enjoy. Warnings: mentions of childbirth and war.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more bored in my life.”

Charlie looked up from the copy of Which Broomstick? that he was currently thumbing through and regarded Artemis from the corner of his eye.

“You could still go out,” he said. “Chiara or Penny might still be free.”

“Penny won’t be able to get a babysitter at this short notice, and Chiara’s working here tonight. She might even be with Fleur,” Artemis exhaled heavily, blowing a stray strand of hair away from her face. “No. I’ll stay here. I should stay here. I just didn’t think there’d be this much waiting, that’s all. Do you reckon it’ll be much longer?”

“I dunno, Artie. I’ve never had a baby before. I don’t know how long it takes.”

“Ages, apparently.”

Artemis let out another huff of air, and slumped against the back of her seat with her arms crossed, one foot tapping impatiently. Charlie closed his magazine.

“I’m sorry,” he told her.

“Why? You’re not the one having a baby.”

“I know, but this wasn’t how you wanted to spend your birthday.”

That was true. Artemis had intended to spend her birthday at Bill and Fleur Weasley’s cottage in Cornwall, with sand and sea and a crackling bonfire. Unfortunately, her best laid plans had been scuppered earlier that evening by the arrival of a lion-shape Patronus, which had spoken with Bill’s voice and informed her that his wife had gone into labour, and that the pair of them were about to go to the hospital. Both she and Charlie had also gone straight to St Mungo’s hospital, where they had taken seats in the waiting room and waited. And waited. And were still waiting, even now.

“It’s fine, Charlie,” she said. “I mean, I’ve had worse birthdays.”

Another truth, albeit an unpleasant one. The previous two years, her birthday had been overshadowed by the battle that had taken so many lives, including those of her friend Tonks and Bill and Charlie’s younger brother Fred. The battle had broken out in the evening of her twenty-fifth birthday, and her twenty-sixth then became the first anniversary of the event.

This year, though she would turn twenty-seven on the eve of the victory and memorial, the fact seemed to linger less heavily on her mind now that yet another year had passed. Still, at her words, Charlie’s jaw tensed slightly. Artemis shook her head and unfolded her arms, guilty that she had accidentally caused harm.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

Before Artemis could continue further, the doors of the waiting room swung open, revealing a middle-aged couple, a tall wizard with glasses and a plump witch in a knitted poncho, both with red hair; Bill and Charlie’s parents. Behind them trailed a much younger witch with a face almost as freckled as Charlie’s and her hair - also red - pulled up into a messy bun: their youngest child and Charlie’s only sister, Ginny.

“Oh, you’re here already,” said Charlie’s mother, her cheeks flushed pink with excitement. “Any news?”

“None yet.”

“Oh, well. These things can take time.”

“Don’t we know it,” Artemis muttered. Mrs Weasley turned to her, beaming.

“And happy birthday, Artemis, dear,” she said. She removed her bag from her shoulder and pulled out a box of small triangular sandwiches. “Your present is at home, but I thought there was no point in the party food going to waste. Unless you had dinner before you came here?”

Artemis took the box of sandwiches from Mrs Weasley’s hands and wrenched it open. “No, I’m starving. Thanks.”

“Neither of us had time to eat anything,” Charlie explained, also helping himself to a sandwich. “We both came straight here after Bill sent his Patronus.”

“Really? But that was almost three hours ago!” Mrs Weasley shook her head. “I don’t know why you rushed. The baby was unlikely to arrive before now.”

“But it should come soon now that you’re here, right?”

“Maybe. Could be in the next half an hour-”

“Thank Godric,” said Artemis.

“- or it might be another three hours.”

“What?”

“Or longer, who knows?” Apparently oblivious to the look on Artemis’ face, Mrs Weasley clapped her hands together. “Oh, it’s so exciting, isn’t it? Now, where did they take Bill and Fleur? We should make sure they have eaten something, the food here is terrible, after all.”

Once she had been told where to go, Mrs Weasley and her set off to deliver refeshments - presumably more sandwiches - to their eldest son and his wife. Ginny Weasley remained in the waiting room, flumping herself down in the chair on the other side of Charlie, who had returned his attention to his magazine. Ginny leaned forward to talk across him.

“Do you think she’s done it on purpose?” she asked Artemis, who frowned.

“What? Who?”

“Fleur, obviously,” Ginny shrugged and raised her eyebrows. “I mean the baby wasn’t meant to be here for another two weeks, and now it’s coming on your birthday, when she was supposed to be having everyone over.”

“So, you think she’s having a baby to get out of having people over for dinner?” Artemis asked. Beside her, Charlie gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, still looking determinedly at his open magazine.

“Maybe,” said Ginny. “And it’s just the sort of thing she’d do, isn’t it? Steal your thunder by having a baby on your birthday.”

“No, she wouldn’t… She… I mean, could she?”

Artemis directed her question at Charlie, who did not even lift his head to look at her as he answered:

“I really don’t think that’s how it works.”

Ginny clearly thought otherwise, for she mouthed ‘I bet she did’ at Artemis before leaning back in her seat so that she was out of sight. As Mr and Mrs Weasley returned from seeing Bill and Fleur, Artemis returned to her sandwiches. She was still bored, but now that she was being fed, she at least felt less annoyed.

But, as eight o’clock became nine, and nine became ten, then eleven, both the sandwiches and Artemis’ patience dwindled. Beside her, Charlie had managed to drift off into a slumber, but she was only growing increasingly restless. After her fidgeting reached the point that it had roused Charlie from his sleep, the two of them decided to find some sort of entertainment, and roamed the hospital corridors in search of somewhere where they might do just that.

When they returned to the waiting room, they found it completely and eerily empty, void of any people or noise. The flickering light of a candelabra on the wall was the only movement to be seen.

“Where did everyone go?”

Before Artemis’ question could be answered - or indeed, in answer to her question - Bill appeared from the direction of the wards. His face was pale and tired looking, but his eyes were bright and his smile was broad. He strode straight across the waiting room towards them and pulled each of them into a hug.

“There you are! Where did you go?” He did not even wait for them to reply before continuing, “Never mind, you’re here now. And so is she. The baby.”

“That’s great, mate,” said Charlie, hugging his brother again. “Is Fleur alright? Is she-”

“Fleur’s fine, so is the baby, she’s… She’s perfect. Come and see.”

Bill beckoned them through to the wards, where the entire Weasley family, Fleur’s parents and sister, and Artemis’ Healer friend Chiara were gathered around a hospital bed. Lying in the bed was an exhausted looking but still irritatingly beautiful Fleur, a small bundle of cloth in her arms. Bill sat on the bed and took the bundle from her, and everyone leaned in to see the pink, wrinkly, and slightly crusty baby inside.

“We haven’t decided on a name yet,” Bill said, his voice gentler than Artemis had ever heard it before. “We thought we still had a couple of weeks left to make up our minds, but this little one had other ideas.” He looked up at Artemis. “Sorry about your birthday.”

“If it’s any consolation, I enjoyed it less than you did,” muttered Fleur wryly, a comment that was met with a few quiet chuckles.

“And what better gift is there than the gift of life?”

“I dunno, Molly,” Artemis shrugged at Bill’s mother. “I asked for a new camera.”

There was another round of soft chuckles, but Bill merely shook his head.

“Well, you’ll have to make do with a goddaughter instead,” he told Artemis, whose jaw dropped open.

“Goddaughter? Really?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Bill shared a glance with his wife. “Why not?”

Artemis turned to Charlie. “You owe me a Sickle.”

“No, he doesn’t. You’re both godparents.”

“That’s fine, I don’t mind sharing,” said Artemis, as much to Charlie as to their goddaughter’s parents. “I’m going to have to get used to sharing my birthday anyway.”

“Actually,” Chiara looked up from the clipboard she held in her hands, “she was born just after midnight, so her birthday is the second of May, not the first.”

The clock on the wall confirmed Chiara’s words. It was past midnight. It was exactly two years after the battle that had ended the war. The entire family was still, silent, and solemn.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I think it’s rather lovely,” Chiara said softly. “The idea that this day will be one of happiness in the future, rather than one filled with bad memories. It’s a small victory, but…”

“It is a victory, just the same.” Bill’s father nodded slowly. “Perhaps you should name her something to reflect that?”

“You could call her Joy!”

“That’s so old-fashioned, Mum,” said Ginny, with a noise of derision. “How about Hope?”

“Or Victoria?”

“Well,” Bill looked from his wife to his in-laws and back, “we were hoping for something French…”

“Victoire.”

“Sorry?”

“Victoire,” Fleur repeated. “It is the French for Victoria. It means victory.”

“It’s pretty,” her husband said. He looked down at the baby in his arms. “It suits her, don’t you think?”

“I do, yes.”

“Then that’s settled,” said Mr Weasley. He pointed his wand at a carton of pumpkin juice on the nightstand, which turned into a large bottle of champagne. Chiara frowned.

“Um, you can’t actually drink alcohol in here,” she said, but her voice tailed off as Mr Weasley continued to conjure fluted glasses from thin air. She sighed. “Oh, never mind.”

Once the glasses had been distributed, Mr Weasley raised his in a toast.

“To our own very small victory.”

“To the smallest of victories,” his son George chipped in, smiling at his tiny niece. Mr Weasley inclined his head.

“To Victoire.”

One by one, the others raised their glasses.

“To Victoire.”

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