She felt the days pressing in around her as she neared her due date, each one slipping by faster than she could catch, while managing somehow to drag like wet cloth. Her body had reached that stage where everything was too much. Too heavy. Too swollen. Too unfair. Even breathing felt like something she needed a plan for.
The early months had been manageable, almost soft. There had been a glow to those days, a dreamy sweetness she used to believe only happened to the annoyingly perfect women she saw in glossy magazines. She had loved the first flutter of movement, the delicate taps that felt like secrets shared only with her. She loved the quiet way Blaise touched her stomach, almost reverent, as if he were laying a hand on a miracle. Back then it all felt magical, as though she were carrying something made of starlight.
Now the glow had vanished. The magic had packed its bags and left her with swollen feet and an aching spine. She hated this final stretch. She hated waking up and needing five minutes just to breathe through the ache that gripped her lower back. She hated that bending down to pick up a sock made her feel like a boulder trapped inside a woman's body. Every simple task felt like the universe playing a mean joke on her.
And Blaise was everywhere.
Hovering in doorways. Watching her like she might explode or shatter. Fussing in that gentle, maddening way of his. Whispering Are you alright every few minutes with so much sincerity she sometimes wanted to cry right into his stupid perfect chest and also throw the nearest cushion at his head.
She loved him completely, but he was pushing her to the very limit of her patience.
Earlier that week he had practically thrown himself across the room to help her stand from the sofa, only to look heartbroken when she snapped that she was pregnant, not ninety years old and made of porcelain. He had that look then, the one that settled on his face whenever he decided she needed even more attention than before. A look that told her her annoyance had only strengthened his resolve. It was infuriating.
If she reached for anything above eye level, he appeared beside her as if summoned by some ancient protective spell. If she sighed too loudly, he asked if she needed to lie down or if she wanted tea or if he should fetch one of the many ridiculous pillows he had purchased online at two in the morning. There were so many of those cushions now that she could have built a fort.
She kept trying to insist she was fine, but she sensed he no longer believed her. She told him he hovered like a paranoid dragon guarding his hoard, which only made him smile, slip an arm around her waist, and call her his treasure in a tone that left her equal parts furious and flustered.
Her frustration was not directed solely at him. She was fed up with herself too. She felt trapped inside her own skin. Her back ached constantly. Her ankles had swollen into small loaves of bread. Even her arms felt heavier. The loss of independence cut deeper than she expected. Showering took planning, balance, and courage. The porcelain floor felt like an enemy waiting to strike.
Blaise insisted on waiting right outside the bathroom door every time she showered. She insisted it was unnecessary. He insisted it absolutely was. He told her he did not intend to let her break her neck at eight months pregnant. She had once shouted through the door that if she did slip, she would scream loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear, so he could stand in the kitchen and have five peaceful minutes. He calmly replied that he was perfectly relaxed where he was. She nearly threw the shampoo bottle.
Yet beneath all the irritation, something warm wound through her chest. A small truth she kept tucked away where pride could not touch it. Someone cared enough to be this annoying. Someone loved her enough to plant himself beside her like a sentry. She would never say it out loud, though. That would defeat the point entirely.
Still, the walls of her days had begun to close in. The weight of her body, the slow churn of hormones, the restlessness that came with waiting for something life-altering while being unable to do anything but endure it. She wanted it to be over. She wanted her body back. She wanted to meet her child properly instead of feeling him tumble around like a Quidditch player practicing in her ribs at midnight.
Mostly, she wanted whatever came next. Anything other than waiting. Anything other than counting the hours and feeling every ounce of herself grow heavier and more exhausted. She was ready to step into the next chapter, whatever chaos or joy it held, because standing still had become the hardest part of all.
One night she lay in bed, surrounded by pillows that had somehow become both her support system and the bane of her existence. She shifted again, trying to find any position that did not make her ribs ache or her hip joints scream. Blaise rested beside her, his hand curved gently over her stomach, warm and steady.
She turned toward him, ready to snap about the heat of his hand or the slight pressure of it or the simple fact that he refused to stop touching her, but the words dissolved before they reached her mouth.
He was not looking at her. He was looking at their child.
His expression held a softness she rarely saw, something fragile and reverent, mixed with fear he never admitted out loud. It was the kind of look that made her chest tighten, as if her breath had caught on a memory she had not lived yet.
"I know you are fed up," he whispered, barely louder than the rustle of the sheets. His voice had a rough edge, as though the words had scraped their way out. "But you are incredible. You are bringing our child into the world. I cannot stop worrying, because I love you more than anything. So if I am annoying, I will keep being annoying. I cannot help it. But thank you. For carrying him. For doing this. For giving me all of this."
Her irritation slipped away, gentle as a sigh leaving her body. She could not bring herself to answer with anything poetic or clever. Everything she could have said felt too small. Too thin. So she reached for his hand and tangled her fingers with his. It felt like the right response, simple and honest.
They stayed like that, their breaths falling into the same slow rhythm. The quiet around them felt peaceful in a way she had been craving for weeks. The discomfort in her body was still there, heavy and relentless, but something in her chest eased.
She remembered why she was enduring all of it.
Because she loved him, and he loved her.
Because soon there would be three of them, wrapped together in a tenderness she could almost feel already, even now in the dark.
~~~~~~~
The big day arrived. This felt alive. Intentional. A pulse that tightened and released with a strange rhythm, curling around her hips before sinking into her spine.
She stayed still for a moment, hoping it was nothing. It held steady. It grew. It wrapped itself around her middle like an inside-out grip she could not shake.
When she finally pushed herself upright, one foot reaching for the floor, a sharp cramp locked her in place. Her fingers curled into the sheets. Her breath faltered. Her forehead dropped as she waited for the pain to roll through her and settle.
Blaise stirred beside her like he had been wired to wake the moment she shifted. He blinked himself into awareness, sat up slowly, and watched her with that look he always wore when he thought she might be on the verge of breaking.
"Cuore mio?" His voice rasped with sleep, soft and already full of worry. He leaned forward, searching her face. "Talk to me. You alright?"
She pressed a shaking hand to her belly. Her son shifted beneath her palm, a warm swell beneath her ribs. She swallowed hard.
"I don't know," she whispered. "Something feels wrong. Or right. I cannot tell."
He did not even wait for her to finish. He was up. Fully awake. Breath unsteady. Shoulders tense. His hands hovered near her arms. Near her waist. Near her face. Never landing, as if touching her might break some spell that kept her upright.
"Please do not start this," she muttered, lifting her eyes just long enough to glare. "I am sitting, not dying. Keep your head for five minutes."
He retreated an inch or two, not enough to be considered calm, only enough to prove he had heard her. His whole body hummed with barely contained panic. She ignored him, though the sight tugged something tender inside her.
She pushed herself to standing, every movement slow and deliberate as she made her way to the bathroom. Her back protested. Her thighs burned. Her belly pulled at her like an anchor. Blaise tracked her steps from the doorway, looking as though one wrong wobble might kill him on the spot.
A single warning look sent him shuffling backward, hands raised in surrender.
Under the shower, she tried to convince herself it was nothing. Just her body being cruel for sport. The water ran hot over her shoulders, down her spine. She scrubbed her hair. She breathed. She counted. She pretended the ache was familiar.
Then another contraction ripped through her, sharp and startling, forcing her to brace herself with one hand against the tiles. Her breath came ragged, catching on each inhale. She bent forward, forehead near her arm, riding it out with Luna's breathing mantra. In through her nose, slow. Out through her mouth. Again. Again.
Her knees wobbled. Her eyes burned. But she stayed upright and steady.
Not yet, she told herself. Not yet.
When she stepped back into the bedroom, wrapped in her towel, hair dripping, Blaise was waiting like a sentinel. His shoulders were tight. His posture was so straight he looked carved from stone. He held out a glass of water with solemn ceremony, as if he had summoned it from the heavens.
She took it. "Thanks."
He watched her sip. Watched her breathe. Watched her exist. His worry sat openly in his eyes.
"How bad is it?" he asked, his voice low.
She hesitated. "It feels different."
That was all she said. It was all she needed to say.
His jaw tightened. His eyes widened. His fingers twitched near his phone, then twitched again. She could practically hear the list forming in his head. Towels. Bag. Names. Instructions. Three different healers. Possibly his mother. Possibly the entire universe.
"Do not," she warned. "No frantic calls. No screaming into the floo. There is time. It could be hours. We are not starting the apocalypse today."
He nodded too quickly, then tried again, slower, as though the second attempt would make him look sane.
"I mean it," she added. "If you panic, I will cry. And then I will probably hit you. And then I will cry again."
That pulled a shaky laugh out of him. He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose like a man clinging to the last shred of dignity available to him.
"Alright. No panicking," he said.
"Good."
They stood there, breathing through the thick, warm quiet between them. The reality of it settled over them both at the same time.
This was happening. Or if not now, then soon.
He stepped closer, unable to help himself, his voice softer than she had ever heard it at this hour of the morning.
"Tell me what you need," he said. "Anything. I will get it. I will do it. Just tell me."
Even now, even with his hands trembling slightly, he meant it.
Hours passed like they were dragging stones behind them. Time felt stretched thin, then clumped together, then dragged again, leaving her pacing between discomfort and disbelief. Just when she started to wonder if this whole thing was a joke her body was playing, something shifted. A tight pressure gathered low in her belly, deeper than anything she had felt that morning, and then the warmth came.
A sudden rush. A shock of heat. Her breath caught in her throat.
Her fingers clamped onto Blaise's arm with a grip strong enough to bruise.
"Blaise," she hissed, her voice raw and sharp. "My water just broke."
For two full seconds, he simply stared. Completely still. Eyes wide, mouth open, soul leaving his body in slow motion.
Then something clicked behind his eyes and he jolted upright so fast the chair skidded across the floor with a loud scrape.
"Oh fuck," he whispered, then louder, "Oh fuck. It is happening. It is happening right now. Alright. Alright. I am prepared. I have trained for this."
"You have what?" Ginny grunted, trying to get herself upright.
"I have trained for this," he repeated with a wild sort of dignity.
She would have asked what training he meant, but he had already spun toward the fireplace like it was the emergency exit in a sinking ship.
"The Floo. I need the Floo. Where is the powder? Why do we never have any bloody powder when I need it?" He grabbed the tin, shook it, ripped the lid off, and threw the entire contents into the fire.
The flames exploded green.
Blaise leaned forward and bellowed into them with a level of hysteria rarely heard outside of ancient tragedies.
"PANSY. LUNA. HELP ME. SHE IS HAVING THE BABY. I THINK I AM GOING TO DIE."
The image cleared into Pansy's drawing room. Pansy sat on her sofa with a glass of wine raised like it was a toast to his suffering. Luna knelt behind her, weaving a ribbon through her hair. Both women stared at him as if he had interrupted a very peaceful ritual for no good reason.
Pansy sighed and lowered her wine. "Really? Now?"
Luna tilted her head with her usual calm. "Tell him to get her a towel and stop shouting."
But Blaise did not hear anything. He was too busy pacing in frantic circles, hands tangling in his hair, breaths coming shallow and loud.
He spun back to Ginny. "Is that another contraction? Should we time them? Do you want ice? Do you want water? Do you want to lie down? Why are you still standing? Why are you breathing like that? Is that normal?"
Ginny winced through another ripple of pain, then growled, "Blaise, if you do not calm down, I swear to Merlin I will hex your balls off."
He froze mid-step, one hand in the air, eyes enormous. "You would not do that to me."
"Try me," she snapped. "You are not the one in labour. You are not leaking. You do not get to panic while I am trying to stay conscious."
"You are leaking," he said helplessly.
"Yes. That is what happens. Now stop shouting at the fireplace and get me something useful. The bag would be a good start."
His hands hovered near his sides. "What bag?"
She closed her eyes like she was praying for strength from every known deity. "The bag by the door. The one you packed. The one you triple-checked last week because you said we needed a system."
"Oh. That bag," he said, as though the memory had just returned from a very long holiday.
He took two steps toward it, then spun back. "Should I call your mother?"
"No."
"Molly?"
"No."
"Draco?"
Ginny turned so slowly he should have been afraid. "If you call Draco Malfoy before we leave this flat, I will personally make sure your son grows up thinking you were a cautionary tale."
His mouth snapped shut on instinct.
Silence settled between them. His panic softened into something fragile and earnest. He looked at her as though she had been dropped straight out of a star.
"You are very beautiful right now," he said in a hushed voice.
She glared so intensely it could have set him on fire. "I am soaked and in pain. Choose your next words wisely."
He swallowed hard. "Terrifying. You are very terrifying. And also a bit radiant."
Another contraction rolled through her and she sagged onto the sofa, teeth clenched. "You are lucky I love you."
He dropped to a crouch in front of her, hands hovering once more, then settling on her knee with careful reverence.
"Tell me what you need," he whispered. "Please."
She exhaled through her nose, steady and slow. "I need you calm. I need clothes that are not dripping. I need a snack. And I need you to stop trying to Floo half of Britain."
He nodded with feverish determination. "Snack. Yes. Food. Bananas. Toast. Crisps. All three. Maybe some juice. Should it be cold? Does cold make contractions worse? Should it be warm?"
"Blaise."
He stilled like she had cast a spell.
"I will get the bag," he said, and scrambled toward it with a kind of manic grace, muttering to himself like a man preparing for a duel he had never wanted to fight.
Ginny sank back into the cushions, one hand on her belly, the other pressed to her forehead.
This was happening.
This was real.
And by the sound of Blaise tripping over the bloody coffee table, it was going to be chaos.
~~~~~~
When Luna and Pansy finally stepped into the Zabini residence, they were bracing for disaster. Screaming. Spilled potions. Possibly something on fire. After all, Blaise was involved.
But the living room was calm. Unsettlingly calm.
Ginny sat in the centre of it, propped on the sofa like she'd never left. One leg tucked under the other, a cup of tea balanced in her hand, the wardlight glowing soft and warm beside her. She looked perfectly relaxed. Radiant, even. The picture of someone very much not in labour.
There was no shouting. No frantic magic. No crash of broken heirlooms or evidence of any hastily-packed hospital bag. Just the faint, distant echo of Blaise's voice somewhere upstairs, which sounded like he might be loudly threatening a wardrobe.
Luna stopped at the threshold, her brows drawn in something close to concern. "Ginny," she asked softly, "are you alright?"
Ginny looked up and smiled like she was on holiday. "Oh, yes," she said, taking a sip. "Water broke a little while ago. We're just about ready to leave."
She gave her bump a gentle pat. "Everything's fine. He's just taking his sweet time."
Luna blinked. "You're in labour."
Ginny shrugged. "Probably."
Pansy, still frozen in the doorway, gave a slow blink of disbelief. "You are so annoying."
Ginny tilted her head. "Me?"
"Yes, you. Do you know how fast I apparated here? I almost left a shoe in Wiltshire."
"I didn't ask you to sprint."
"You didn't have to. Your lunatic husband screamed into the Floo like the house was on fire. He said, and I quote, 'She's giving birth in the hallway, I think I've gone blind.'"
Ginny snorted into her tea.
Luna wandered toward her with a furrowed brow, crouching down to press a gentle hand to Ginny's knee. "Are you sure you're not hiding something? Pain? Bleeding? Sudden irrational rage?"
Ginny gave her a long, flat look. "I live with Blaise Zabini. I've mastered irrational rage."
Upstairs, there was another thud. Then the sound of a closet slamming open.
Pansy rolled her eyes so hard it was audible. "I swear to Merlin, if he comes down here with three different hats and none of them match the overnight bag, I am going to hex him."
Ginny didn't argue. She just lifted her tea again and said lightly, "Let him have his meltdown. I'll be here."
Luna stood, still quiet, still scanning her. "Do you want us to start timing anything? Contractions? Breathing? Your patience?"
Ginny winced slightly, one hand drifting to her belly. "They're about twelve minutes apart, I think. Not strong yet. Just… tightening."
"Textbook," Luna said.
Pansy flopped down beside her with a huff, inspecting Ginny's face like she didn't quite believe any of this was happening. "So let me get this straight. You've gone into labour, you've showered, had tea, and now you're just… waiting?"
"Well, we weren't going to fly there."
"You are infuriating."
"You're welcome."
Upstairs, a crash rang out, followed by Blaise's voice shouting something that sounded suspiciously like, "WHERE ARE THE TINY BLANKETS?"
Luna gave a patient sigh. "I told him to label the drawers."
Pansy leaned forward, yelled up the stairs, "CHECK UNDER THE BLOODY CRIB, YOU THEATRICAL IDIOT!"
Ginny just sipped her tea.
Luna turned to her again, gentler this time. "Do you want us to go with you? Or stay here and wait for the midwitch?"
Ginny nodded once. "Come. Might as well be all together when he faints."
"Do you think he actually will?" Pansy asked, only half-mocking.
"I give him until my first real contraction," Ginny said.
A pause.
Then all three of them nodded at the same time.
Upstairs in the master bedroom, Blaise paced with the determination of someone preparing for a duel he hadn't agreed to. His shirt was damp at the collar, the second one of the morning already crumpled in the laundry bin. He muttered to himself in low, frantic bursts of English and Italian, fingers twitching at the hem of a third shirt he wasn't even sure he liked.
"This is happening," he whispered, yanking open another drawer. "This is actually happening." His voice cracked around the edges. "We're not ready. I'm not ready. She's too calm. That can't be right. Something's going to go wrong."
He stood there, staring into the drawer like it might offer divine guidance, then dropped to one knee and tried to retie his shoelace for the fifth time. The loop wouldn't sit right. The knot looked suspicious. He ripped it out and started again, more aggressively.
Footsteps approached behind him.
"Zabini."
He jumped like he'd been slapped. Pansy stood in the doorway, arms folded, expression carved from stone.
"What in the absolute fuck are you doing?"
He opened his mouth, gestured vaguely at the drawer, then at his feet, then at his shirt. "I—look, I just—this is huge, alright? I can't just show up at St. Mungo's looking like a deranged uncle. And what if I forget something? What if—" His voice cracked. "What if I mess this up?"
Pansy stared at him for a long, silent moment.
Then she stepped forward and took him by both shoulders, fingers digging in just enough to make her point.
"Get a grip."
"I'm trying."
"No, you're spiralling."
"I'm not spiralling."
"You're tying the same shoelace for the sixth time."
Blaise looked down. "Seventh."
"Jesus Christ."
He groaned and let his head fall forward until it bumped her shoulder. "I don't know how to do this."
"You don't do anything. She does the hard part. You just hold her hand and try not to pass out."
He groaned again. "I'm going to pass out."
Pansy sighed and rubbed the back of his neck like he was a very large, very expensive child. "You're not going to pass out."
"You don't know that."
"She's downstairs drinking tea."
"I know."
"She's more prepared for this than you are."
"I know."
"She's giving birth, Blaise, not storming a fortress."
He looked up at her helplessly. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"What if I cry?"
"Then you cry."
"What if I cry a lot?"
Pansy looked him dead in the eye. "Then I film it."
Blaise groaned again and pressed his palms into his face.
She shoved the overnight bag into his arms with a thud. "Take this. Go downstairs. Say thank you. Try not to die."
He nodded once, like he'd just been given military orders.
"Right."
"Right."
"And if you don't pull yourself together by the time I reach the bottom of the stairs," she added, already turning to go, "I'm going to hex your shoelaces together. And you can explain that to the mediwizard."
Blaise stood frozen for a moment. Then he squared his shoulders, clutched the bag like it might bolt, and followed her.
Fatherhood, he thought, was already terrifying. And the baby hadn't even shown up yet.
Ginny let out a soft laugh, tilting her head at Luna with that familiar glint in her eyes. "He's terrified," she said, smiling as she shifted slightly on the couch. "You know how he gets. Pretends to be all composed and strategic, then completely crumbles the moment anything real happens."
Luna, seated cross-legged on the armchair like she might stay for hours, offered a small, dreamy nod. "It makes sense," she said in that calm, thoughtful way she had. "Bringing a new life into the world can be quite overwhelming, especially for people who like to believe they've already planned for every possible outcome."
Pansy made a snorting sound that didn't pretend to be polite. "Overwhelming is one word for it," she said, leaning against the bannister with one eyebrow arched. "That man is upstairs acting like the world's about to end. Meanwhile, you're down here sipping tea like it's a Sunday brunch."
Ginny shrugged, lifting her cup with a smug little smirk. "It's not my first time handling a Zabini meltdown."
She reached over to pat her belly affectionately, as if the baby inside had any idea what kind of father was waiting outside the womb. "Besides, I have more important things to worry about than his existential crisis. Like making sure someone remembered to pack the bloody baby bag."
Pansy crossed the room with exaggerated purpose and flopped down beside her. "So let me get this straight. You're calm, hydrated, dressed, and ready to go. And he's the one spiralling?"
Ginny gave her a look. "You're surprised?"
Pansy threw her hands in the air. "Not even a little. But I still feel like it's my moral duty to smack some sense into him before he hyperventilates himself unconscious."
Luna gave a little hum of amusement, her hands folded neatly in her lap. "Or you could let him spiral. It might be healthy for him to realise he doesn't always have to be in control."
"Oh, please," Pansy scoffed. "He's spent his whole life trying to be ten steps ahead. This is the one time he doesn't get to write the ending. Of course he's losing his mind."
Ginny sipped her tea again, letting the warmth steady her. "Honestly, if I had a Sickles for every time I had to be the calm one while he panicked, we could've paid for a private birthing suite and a personal choir."
Luna looked mildly intrigued. "Is that a real option?"
Ginny grinned. "Don't tempt him. He'd do it."
Pansy stood up, rolling her shoulders. "Alright. I'm going up there. Someone's got to remind him he's not the one giving birth. If he starts crying, I'm just going to start yelling louder."
Luna tilted her head. "Maybe lead with kindness."
"Kindness is a luxury I don't have time for," Pansy said, already halfway to the stairs. "He's lucky I didn't bring a tranquilliser."
Ginny called after her, "Be nice!"
"I make no promises."
Once the footsteps faded upstairs, Luna turned back to Ginny with a fond smile. "He really loves you, you know. In his own slightly unhinged, overprotective way."
Ginny's eyes softened. "Yeah. I know."
They sat in silence for a moment, the quiet hum of the flat broken only by a distant, muffled stream of panicked Italian echoing from upstairs.
Luna raised a brow. "He's reached the dramatic monologue portion of the meltdown."
Ginny chuckled. "He's probably on his third shirt."
Pansy's voice rang out a second later. "Zabini, stop trying to iron your socks!"
Ginny set down her tea, stood up slowly, and reached for her coat. "Right then. Time to go ruin his emotional breakdown with the actual birth."
Moments later, Blaise thundered down the stairs, pale and flustered, scanning the room like he expected to find Ginny on the floor in distress. Instead, he found her standing by the door, coat on, hair brushed, perfectly ready.
~~~~~
By the time they arrived at St. Mungo's, the atmosphere around Blaise had shifted so drastically that it felt as though they had entered an entirely different universe. Gone was the jittery man on the verge of hyperventilating, the one who had spent the last few hours alternating between pacing and babbling nervously about worst-case scenarios. In his place was someone… formidable.
Blaise Zabini, now cloaked in the aura of a man on a high-stakes mission, strode through the hospital doors as though he were leading an elite team on a covert operation. His posture was rigid, his expression carved from stone, and his eyes scanned every inch of the bustling hospital with calculated intensity. Every step he took seemed to echo with authority, and those in his path instinctively moved aside, sensing that Blaise Zabini was not a man to be trifled with today.
"Where's maternity?" he barked at the receptionist before she could even ask for their names. The poor witch behind the desk blinked up at him, momentarily frozen by the sheer force of his presence.
"M-Maternity ward is on the third floor, sir. You'll need to—"
"We don't need to do anything except get there," he cut in sharply, already turning toward the lifts. "Come on, keep up," he added, glancing over his shoulder at Pansy, Luna, and Ginny, who followed at a more leisurely pace.
Pansy raised a brow as she exchanged a look with Luna. "Well, this is new," she muttered. "I didn't realize impending fatherhood turned Blaise into a deranged drill sergeant."
"I'm not deranged," he snapped without looking back. "I'm prepared. There's a difference."
"Sure," Pansy drawled. "Let's go with that." She leaned toward Luna and whispered, "I give it ten minutes before he tries to interrogate a nurse about their qualifications."
When they reached the third floor, Blaise stepped out of the lift first, immediately zeroing in on a passing healer. His voice was sharp, clipped, and entirely too loud for the peaceful environment of the maternity ward. "You there—healer. I want the best room you have available, preferably one with charm-reinforced walls. None of that flimsy privacy curtain nonsense. And make sure there's a fully stocked potions cabinet. We're not taking chances."
The healer blinked, looking momentarily bewildered before nodding slowly. "Uh… yes, sir. We'll… make sure everything is up to standard."
"Good," he said curtly, already scanning the corridor for their assigned room. "And find someone to double-check the charms on the bed. I don't want my wife lying on something that might malfunction halfway through labor."
Pansy's jaw dropped as she watched him stride ahead, barking out orders like he owned the place. "Merlin's saggy pants, he's serious," she whispered to Luna. "I thought he'd calm down once we got here, but this… this is next level."
Luna gave a serene smile as she glided along beside Pansy. "Blaise has always had… a flair for control," she said softly. "It's how he handles things when he's scared. He can't control what's happening with Ginny, but he can control the environment around her. It makes him feel useful."
"Useful?" Pansy echoed incredulously. "He looks like he's about to start giving lectures on obstetrics." She paused, watching as Blaise cornered a cleaning crew near the end of the hall. "Oh, this should be good."
"Cleaning staff!" he barked, causing the two witches and a wizard holding enchanted mops to flinch. "You're going to sanitize that room from top to bottom, and I mean to perfection. I don't want a speck of dust or a lingering charm that hasn't been refreshed in the last twenty-four hours. My wife is about to give birth, and I expect nothing less than immaculate conditions. If I walk in there and so much as smell a trace of stale air, you'll be answering to me."
The cleaning crew exchanged uneasy glances before hurrying off to do as they were told, muttering nervously among themselves.
"Blaise," Ginny called from behind him, her tone calm but firm. She was still clutching her belly as another mild contraction passed, but she didn't look remotely as frazzled as her husband. "You need to stop terrorizing the staff. They're here to help, not to audition for a military squad."
He turned on his heel, his eyes wide with something akin to righteous indignation. "They're here to ensure your safety," he retorted. "I won't have any mistakes or subpar preparation. This is your first labor, Luce dei miei occhi. Do you know how many things can go wrong during a first birth? Blood pressure spikes, miscast spells, potions not brewed properly—"
"Vita mia," Ginny interrupted, holding up a hand. "Breathe. You're spiraling."
"I'm not spiraling," he snapped, though his twitching left eye suggested otherwise. "I'm being thorough."
Pansy snickered quietly behind her hand. "Thorough. Sure. That's definitely the word I'd use for this level of madness."
Before he could respond, a nurse approached, clipboard in hand. "Mrs. Zabini? Your room is ready. If you'll follow me—"
"We'll follow you," he said immediately, cutting her off as he stepped forward protectively. "And make sure that IV drip is set correctly. None of this automatic charm nonsense—I want manual regulation, and I want the best healer on duty assigned to this delivery."
The nurse opened her mouth to respond but was silenced by the intensity of his glare. She gave a stiff nod and quickly turned on her heel, leading the group toward their room.
"Are you always like this during high-pressure situations?" Pansy whispered as they walked.
"Only when it matters," he muttered, not breaking stride. "This is my wife and my child we're talking about. Excuse me for wanting things done right."
"You know what's funny?" Pansy said with a smirk. "You're acting like you're the one about to go into labor."
Blaise shot her a withering glare but said nothing, instead focusing his attention on Ginny as she carefully lowered herself onto the hospital bed with Luna's help. For a brief moment, his expression softened, and the tension in his shoulders eased ever so slightly.
"Better?" Ginny asked, raising a brow at her husband's sudden shift in demeanor.
"Almost," he replied, stepping closer and gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Now that you're settled, maybe I can relax… a little."
"Good," Ginny said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Because if you keep acting like a deranged warlord, I'll have to ban you from the delivery room."
Pansy snorted loudly, while Luna simply smiled, ever the picture of calm. "Well," Pansy said with a grin, "at least this will be a birth to remember."
He sighed, muttering something about ungrateful friends under his breath, but he didn't argue. After all, this was only the beginning—and knowing Blaise, he was prepared to keep barking orders until the baby was safely in their arms.
The moment they entered Ginny's room, it was as though the world outside ceased to exist. His sharp eyes scanned every inch of the room, from the glimmering charms on the walls to the sterile equipment beside the bed. He was silent at first, his entire demeanor radiating tension, but the second his gaze landed on Ginny, something in him shifted. His stiff shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, and the hard edge in his expression melted into something tender—loving.
"Everything okay, my love?" he asked, stepping toward her with uncharacteristic gentleness. He reached for her hand, his thumb brushing soothing circles over her knuckles. His voice was softer now, though beneath that warmth was still the steely determination of a man ready to do whatever it took to protect her.
Ginny, reclining comfortably on the birthing bed, gave him a tired but affectionate smile. "Yes, love. Everything's fine," she said with calm assurance. "We're just waiting for things to get interesting." Her tone was light, teasing even, but there was a flicker of appreciation in her eyes as she watched him fuss over her.
He didn't seem entirely convinced. He gave her hand a brief squeeze before turning his attention back to the room, his expression hardening once more. "Good," he murmured, though his mind was clearly already moving on to the next item on his mental checklist. Without missing a beat, he rounded on the nearest nurse with the intensity of a man who thought he was briefing a team before battle.
"Is the birthing bed at the correct angle?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing critically. "I've read up on optimal positioning for labor. This—" he gestured to the bed as though it were a malfunctioning piece of machinery, "—had better be perfect. I'm not leaving anything to chance."
The nurse blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer force of his presence. "Er… yes, sir. The angle is correct," she replied hesitantly, glancing at Ginny for reassurance.
"Amore," Ginny said, exasperation mingling with amusement. "Relax. You're acting like we're storming a fortress. I've done this before. Trust me, it's not that complicated."
But he wasn't listening. He had already moved on, his eyes darting toward the bedside monitor with suspicion, as though it might betray them at any moment. He leaned in, studying the readings, muttering something under his breath about spell calibration and mana fluctuations.
Ginny sighed, her lips quirking into a wry smile. "I swear, if he doesn't calm down soon, he's going to stress himself into early labor." She glanced at Pansy, who was leaning casually against the wall, thoroughly entertained by Blaise's antics. "I think he might actually believe he's the one giving birth."
"Oh, he definitely does," Pansy agreed, crossing her arms with a smirk. "You should've seen him on the way here—he was giving orders like we were on a bloody battlefield. I half-expected him to demand a security escort."
~~~~~~
Blaise's sharp eyes zeroed in on the maternity ward manager as soon as they entered the room. A man in his late forties, wearing pristine healer robes, stood by the nurse's station, flipping through patient charts with practiced efficiency. The moment Blaise strode toward him, purposeful and exuding barely restrained menace, the manager stiffened, sensing trouble before a word had even been spoken.
"Mr. Zabini!" the manager greeted with forced politeness, offering a weak smile as Blaise approached. "Is there anything I can assist you with? I assure you, your wife is in excellent hands. We—"
Blaise held up a hand, silencing him with a gesture so controlled it felt more like a command. His dark eyes gleamed dangerously, and though his expression remained outwardly calm, there was a tension coiled beneath the surface, like a predator sizing up its prey.
"Listen closely," Blaise said in a voice so quiet it demanded attention. He leaned in slightly, his posture casual yet somehow predatory. "My wife is about to give birth, which means this is the single most important day of my life. I expect everything to go flawlessly. And when I say flawlessly, I mean there isn't room for so much as a misplaced breath in this entire ward."
The manager blinked, unsure whether Blaise was serious or simply a husband overly concerned about his wife's wellbeing. "Of course, Mr. Zabini. We adhere to the highest standards here at St. Mungo's—"
"I don't care about your 'standards,'" he interrupted, his voice low but carrying a weight that made the hairs on the back of the manager's neck stand up. "I care about results. If there's even the slightest mistake—if a nurse fumbles a potion, if a charm flickers for a second too long, or if someone so much as sneezes at the wrong moment—you'll find that your… position here becomes very temporary."
The manager's forced smile faltered, his fingers tightening around the clipboard he held. "I—I can assure you, Mr. Zabini, our staff is highly trained. There's no reason for concern."
Blaise gave a slow, deliberate nod, his expression unreadable. "Good. I'm glad we understand each other." He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small velvet pouch, the unmistakable jingle of galleons ringing out as he handed it over. "This is for… ensuring priority care. I trust you'll see to it personally."
The manager hesitated, glancing down at the pouch before quickly pocketing it with a muttered, "Thank you, sir. I—uh—appreciate your generosity."
He wasn't finished. He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a near whisper, his eyes locking onto the manager's with an intensity that sent a chill down the man's spine. "One more thing. If anything goes wrong, and I mean anything, you won't be answering to hospital administrators. You'll be answering to me. And trust me when I say, my methods of… discipline are a bit more creative than filing a complaint."
For emphasis, he shifted his coat slightly, revealing the gleaming handle of a dagger tucked neatly at his side. It wasn't an overt threat—it didn't need to be. The mere sight of the weapon, combined with his reputation, was enough to send the message loud and clear.
The manager paled visibly, swallowing hard. "Understood, Mr. Zabini. We'll—uh—we'll ensure everything is perfect."
His lips curved into a cold, satisfied smile. "Good. I knew you'd see things my way."
Just as he turned to leave, the manager found his voice again, though it trembled slightly. "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"
Blaise paused, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smirk. "Yes. Make sure the tea you send up is fresh. My wife deserves the best."
With that, he turned on his heel and strode back toward Ginny's room, leaving the manager frozen in place, clutching his clipboard like a lifeline. It wasn't until Blaise had disappeared down the corridor that the man exhaled shakily, muttering something about preferring dragons to Zabinis.
Back in the room, Pansy and Luna had clearly witnessed the entire exchange from the doorway, judging by the identical grins plastered across their faces.
"Did you just threaten the maternity ward manager with a knife?" Pansy asked, raising a brow in amused disbelief. "Honestly, Zabini, I think that might be a bit much, even for you."
"It wasn't a threat," he said smoothly, settling back into the chair beside Ginny. "It was… encouragement."
"Encouragement," she repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Right. And I suppose flashing your knife was just your way of saying 'thank you for your service.'"
He ignored her, turning his full attention back to Ginny, who was watching him with a mixture of exasperation and affection. He reached for her hand again, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he leaned in close.
"How are you feeling?" he asked softly, his voice devoid of the icy tone it had carried moments before. Here, with her, he was no longer the cold, calculating hitman—he was just a man in love, desperate to do everything right.
Ginny smiled, her fingers curling around his. "Better now," she admitted, her voice warm. "Even if you did just terrify half the staff."
"They'll thank me later when everything goes perfectly," Blaise said, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. "And if they don't… well, they'll still have all their limbs, so I'd call that a win."
Luna leaned over to Pansy, whispering with a grin, "You have to admit, he's committed."
"Oh, he's committed all right," Pansy muttered, shaking her head. "Committed to making this the most dramatic birth in wizarding history. I almost feel sorry for the poor staff. Almost."
Ginny chuckled softly, squeezing Blaise's hand. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"I'm yours," he replied, his voice low and sincere. "And that makes it worth it."
Pansy groaned loudly. "Oh, Merlin. If you two start getting all sappy on top of this, I'm going to need a coffee."
Luna smiled serenely. "I think it's sweet. Besides, I'm sure the staff will recover… eventually."
As the time drew closer, tension hung thick in the air, every second dragging like an eternity. The early stages of labor had been exhausting enough, but now Ginny was entering the critical phase—the pushing stage. Blaise had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past hour, focused entirely on Ginny's every movement and expression, as if he could will the pain away by sheer force of determination.
By now, Pansy and Luna had retreated back to the Zabini residence at Blaise's insistence. They had offered to stay, of course, but Blaise wasn't having any distractions—not when his wife was about to give birth to their first child.
"Go," he had said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I've got this."
Pansy had smirked, whispering to Luna, "He's got this? More like he's one scream away from fainting."
But they'd left, trusting Blaise to do what he always did: take control of the situation.
~~~~~~
The once-unshakable hitman, the man who had walked through fire and left bodies in his wake, was completely and utterly out of his depth. Blaise stood at Ginny's side, his fingers laced tightly with hers, his grip firm—not crushing, not hesitant, just there. His entire life had been built on control, but here, in this moment, he had none. And yet, he refused to let her see his fear.
"You're doing amazing, amore," he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to her sweat-drenched forehead. His voice, usually laced with arrogance and ease, was stripped bare, raw with emotion. "Just keep breathing, baby. We're almost there."
Ginny let out a strangled groan, her nails digging into his skin with enough force to make lesser men cry out. Blaise only held tighter, grounding her, anchoring her through the storm.
"Easy for you to say," she gasped between ragged breaths. "You're not the one pushing a human out of your body!"
He chuckled—because that was all he could do. Because if he didn't, he might lose himself completely to the sheer, overwhelming helplessness of it all. "True. But if I could, you know I would, right?"
Ginny shot him a look—a wild, exhausted glare that still somehow held all the fire he loved in her. But then, after a beat, she laughed. A breathless, broken sound, but a laugh nonetheless.
"You're full of shit, Zabini."
"I'm full of love for you," he corrected, brushing damp strands of crimson away from her face. "Now focus, my fierce little lioness. You've got this."
The healer at the foot of the bed cleared her throat. "Mrs. Zabini, it's time to push. On the next contraction, I need you to give it everything you've got."
Ginny barely nodded, her body trembling with exhaustion, but the determination in her eyes was unshakable.
The contraction hit like a tidal wave. She arched, body tense as she let out a low, guttural cry, bearing down with all the strength she had left. Blaise leaned in closer, his lips brushing her temple, whispering every soft, reverent word he could think of.
"That's it, amore. Just a little more. You're almost there, tesoro."
But as the minutes stretched on, something changed.
Blaise felt it before he saw it—the subtle shift in energy, the way the air grew heavier, tighter. The healer exchanged a look with one of the nurses, the kind of look that sent ice slicing through his veins.
His spine straightened, his entire being snapping into sharp focus. Something's wrong.
"What is it?" His voice was calm, too calm. The kind of calm that preceded something lethal.
"It's… nothing serious," the healer said quickly, though the edge in her voice betrayed the lie. "We just need her to push harder—"
"She's exhausted," he snapped. "Find another way."
"We're doing everything we can—"
"No, you're not." His tone was razor-sharp, deadly. And before anyone could react, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sleek, black firearm, placing it with quiet finality on the bedside table. The click of metal against wood was deafening in the suddenly silent room.
The staff froze. No one moved. No one breathed.
Blaise's gaze was cold, calculating, dangerous. "I assume," he said, voice low, almost gentle, "that none of you want anything to go wrong here. So you're going to do your jobs. And you're going to make sure my wife and son survive this." A pause, then, quieter but no less deadly, "Am I clear?"
The healer swallowed hard, nodding vigorously. "Y-Yes, Mr. Zabini. Of course."
The entire room jolted into action. Nurses moved with newfound efficiency, spells were cast, the air hummed with urgency.
Blaise turned back to Ginny, the ice in his expression melting away as he bent down to kiss her cheek. His voice softened, a stark contrast to the lethal command he'd just issued. "You're so close, amore. Just one more push. I'm right here."
Ginny, despite the pain, let out a breathless laugh. "Did… did you just threaten the medical staff?"
"Only a little," he murmured, pressing another kiss to her temple. "Now focus. We're almost there."
And with his unwavering presence anchoring her, with his voice a quiet, steady promise in her ear, she reached for the last of her strength and pushed.
The final contraction ripped through her, and with one last, primal push, Ginny gave everything she had left. A piercing cry shattered the thick tension in the air, raw and new, a sound so pure it sent a shudder through Blaise's very core. It cut through the exhaustion, through the pain, through every dark and twisted thing that had ever haunted him.
"It's a boy!" the healer declared, her voice thick with relief, her hands lifting the small, wriggling bundle for the parents to see.
Ginny slumped back against the pillows, her body spent, tears slipping freely down her flushed cheeks—tears of exhaustion, of relief, of absolute, unshakable love. Her chest heaved as she let her gaze fall on him—their son.
Blaise stood frozen, his breath caught somewhere between his ribs as he stared at the tiny life before him. His mind, always calculating, always two steps ahead, completely emptied. The ruthless hitman, the cold strategist, the untouchable Zabini heir—gone. In his place was just a man, standing in awe of something he never thought he deserved.
Ginny reached out first, her fingers trembling as they brushed over the delicate hand of their newborn son. The baby's tiny fingers flexed, grasping weakly at the air before curling around hers. A sob tore from her throat at the impossible, overwhelming weight of the moment.
Blaise finally moved, his grip on her hand tightening as he leaned down, pressing his lips to her damp forehead. "You were incredible," he whispered, his voice rough, filled with something he had never let himself feel so openly. "Absolutely fucking incredible."
The healer gently placed the newborn against Ginny's chest, and the moment his small body settled against hers, a deep, instinctive peace settled over her. The tears kept falling, her entire world now wrapped in the fragile weight of the life she had just brought into existence. She barely noticed Blaise shifting beside her until she felt his arm wrap around both of them, holding them close. His face hovered just inches from their son's, his sharp, calculating gaze now utterly undone with reverence.
Ginny turned her head slightly, her voice a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might break the spell. "What should we call him?"
Blaise didn't hesitate. His eyes never left the baby's face, his expression something close to worship. "Valerius," he murmured, his voice full of quiet strength. "Our little warrior."
Ginny exhaled shakily, the name settling deep within her, wrapping around her heart like a promise. "Valerius Zabini," she whispered, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her son's forehead. "Welcome to the world, my love."
Blaise rested his forehead against hers, his fingers gently stroking the soft tuft of dark curls atop his son's head. He had taken lives. So many, without regret, without hesitation. But this? This was the first thing in his life he had ever given.
And he would protect them—Ginny, Valerius—the way he had never protected anything before. With his life. With his soul.
Nothing and no one would ever touch his family.
~~~~~~
Blaise Zabini had always been a man of composure—stoic, cold, and calculating in most situations. But not today. Today, the carefully maintained mask he wore had shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces. He had spent the past few hours oscillating between crying uncontrollably, pacing the room with frenetic energy, and gazing at his newborn son with the kind of reverence usually reserved for divine miracles.
Ginny lay in bed, exhausted but glowing with a happiness that no words could capture. She watched Blaise, her lips curling into an affectionate smile as he made another lap around the room, one hand tugging at his hair while the other held a tissue he hadn't even realized was now shredded beyond recognition.
"Dolce metà," she called softly, beckoning him over with a tired wave of her hand.
He immediately stopped pacing and crossed the room in three long strides, his expression full of concern. "Are you alright? Do you need more water? Should I call the healer? Are you too hot? Too cold?"
She chuckled weakly. "I'm fine, Blaise. I just… I've never seen you like this before."
He blinked, wiping the tears from his face hastily, as though embarrassed by his emotional display. "I'm sorry. I just—he's perfect, Gin. Absolutely perfect. And you… you're incredible. How did you do that?" His voice cracked slightly as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. "I swear, I'll never take you for granted again."
She smirked. "Good. Because I fully intend to milk this for the rest of our lives."
He chuckled through the remnants of his tears, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. He reached out and gently touched Valerius's tiny hand, his fingers trembling slightly. The baby responded with a little twitch, and Blaise looked like he might start crying again.
"Alright," she said with mock exasperation. "If you start bawling again, I'm calling Pansy to drag you out of here."
As if on cue, the Floo flared to life in the corner of the room, and moments later, Theo, Neville, Luna, and Pansy stepped through in quick succession.
Theo was the first to speak, grinning broadly as he surveyed the scene. "Well, would you look at that. Blaise Zabini, the ruthless assassin, reduced to a puddle of emotions. Never thought I'd see the day."
Blaise shot him a withering glare, though it lacked its usual venom. "Say one more word, Nott, and I'll ensure your next mission involves chasing pixies through the Forbidden Forest."
Theo raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. "Hey, no judgment. I think it's adorable."
Pansy swept forward and leaned over Ginny with a mischievous smirk. "How are you holding up, Red? You look like you've been through hell."
She snorted. "That's because I have. But at least I have this little guy to show for it." She tilted the baby slightly so Pansy could get a better look.
"Oh, he's gorgeous," Pansy breathed, her eyes softening as she gazed at the tiny bundle. "Good job. And Blaise, well done on not fainting. I had my doubts."
Luna floated over to the other side of the bed, her usual serene smile in place. "He has Ginny's nose," she said dreamily. "And Blaise's serious little brow. He looks like he's already plotting his first adventure."
Neville, who had been standing quietly at the back, finally stepped forward, his face lighting up as he got a glimpse of the baby. "Congratulations, you two. He's perfect."
"Thank you, Neville," Ginny said warmly. She glanced at Blaise, who was still staring at Valerius as if he couldn't quite believe he was real. "Blaise, do you want to… you know, let them hold him?"
Blaise's eyes snapped up, alarmed. "What? No. He's too tiny. What if they drop him?"
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Blaise. We're not going to drop him. Give him here."
"No," Blaise said firmly, holding Valerius a little closer. "He's fragile."
Theo burst out laughing. "Mate, you've handled cursed artifacts with less care than that baby. Hand him over. We'd like to meet the newest Zabini."
Reluctantly, and only after Ginny shot him a pointed look, Blaise stood and very carefully transferred Valerius into Pansy's waiting arms. She cradled him expertly, her sharp features softening into something almost maternal.
"Hello, little Valerius," Pansy cooed, her usual sarcasm replaced by genuine warmth. "Welcome to the madhouse. Don't worry—we'll make sure your dad doesn't turn you into a mini-assassin too soon."
Blaise crossed his arms, watching like a hawk. "Support his head properly, Pansy."
"I am supporting his head," Pansy shot back, rolling her eyes. "Relax. He's fine."
Luna leaned over to tickle Valerius's tiny fingers, her expression full of wonder. "He has such a strong aura. He's going to be a very special child."
Theo leaned in next, peering at the baby with a grin. "Well, he's already got Zabini's brooding intensity. Poor kid."
Neville, ever the peacemaker, smiled kindly at Blaise. "You'll be a great dad, Blaise. You're already doing amazing."
Blaise didn't respond immediately. He just stood there, watching his friends coo over his son, a strange mixture of pride and anxiety swirling in his chest. Finally, he exhaled and muttered, "Thanks, Longbottom."
Pansy handed Valerius back to Blaise, who took him with the utmost care, as if handling the most precious thing in the world—which, to him, he was.
"Well," Pansy said, clapping her hands together. "Now that we've all met the heir to the Zabini empire, who's up for drinks? I think Ginny deserves something strong after all that."
"I'll settle for pumpkin juice," Ginny said with a tired laugh. "But go ahead. Celebrate for me."
As the group began discussing plans for a celebratory gathering, Blaise sat down beside Ginny, holding Valerius close. He leaned over and kissed her cheek softly.
"Thank you," he whispered. "For everything."
Ginny smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. "We did it together."
Blaise looked down at his son, his heart swelling with emotions he never thought himself capable of feeling. For once in his life, he didn't care about appearances, missions, or the opinions of others. All that mattered was here, in his arms.
And as laughter filled the room, Blaise knew that this was just the beginning of a new adventure—one far more dangerous and rewarding than any he'd ever faced before. For the first time in his life, he felt completely unguarded, vulnerable in a way that didn't terrify him but instead filled him with a strange kind of joy.
Ginny shifted slightly in the bed, drawing everyone's attention. Despite her exhaustion, there was something weighing heavily on her mind. She glanced over at Theo, hesitating for a moment before finally speaking.
"Theo…" Ginny began, her voice soft but clear. "Can you… perhaps go over to… you know, to Hermione? To tell her."
The lighthearted atmosphere of the room dimmed slightly as everyone registered her words. Theo, who had been leaning casually against the wall with his hands in his pockets, straightened up, his usual easygoing expression replaced by something more serious.
"Of course, Red," he said gently, his voice lacking its usual teasing tone. "So… you're still not talking to each other?"
She sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. There was a flicker of sadness in her gaze, one that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Please, Theo. Don't make this harder than it should be… I need my best friend more than life."
There was a beat of silence as everyone processed the raw honesty in her words. Theo's expression softened, and he nodded once, a silent promise in his gesture.
"I'm going, Red," he said quietly. "Don't worry."
Without another word, Theo stepped away from the group, giving Blaise a quick nod before turning on his heel and disapparating with a soft pop.
As the sound faded, the room grew quieter. Everyone exchanged glances, the weight of Ginny's request lingering in the air. Luna was the first to break the silence, her voice calm and soothing as always.
"I think it's time for us to leave," she said, offering Ginny a serene smile. "We'll visit you and Val tomorrow, okay?"
Ginny smiled back, grateful for Luna's gentle understanding. "That will be lovely. Thank you, Luna."
Neville stepped forward next, his warm, steady presence offering silent reassurance. He bent slightly, giving Ginny a soft, one-armed hug so as not to disturb the baby resting in Blaise's arms. "We love you, Ginny. You did amazing today."
Ginny's eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she managed to keep her composure. "Thank you, Nev. I love all of you too."
Pansy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the exchange, finally spoke up as she adjusted her coat with a dramatic flair. "Well, this has been a surprisingly emotional day, even for me," she said, her tone light but not without affection. "See you guys."
Blaise gave her a curt nod, though his lips twitched in what might have been the hint of a smile. "Try not to cause too much trouble on your way out, Parkinson."
She winked at him. "No promises."
With that, the group began to filter out, leaving Blaise, Ginny, and Valerius alone once more. The silence that followed wasn't heavy or uncomfortable—it was peaceful, a moment of calm after the storm.
Blaise sat down beside Ginny, still cradling Valerius in his arms. He looked down at his son, his heart swelling with an overwhelming mix of love, pride, and something he couldn't quite put into words.
"She'll come, you know," Blaise said quietly after a moment, his eyes still on the baby. "Hermione. She cares about you too much to stay away."
"I hope so," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I just… I don't want to do this without her, Blaise. She's always been there for me, through everything."
"And she'll be there for this too," he assured her, his voice steady and certain. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple, his free hand finding hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You've got me, and soon enough, you'll have her too."
She leaned into him, closing her eyes as the weight of the day finally began to settle over her. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "For being here. For everything."
Blaise didn't respond with words. Instead, he shifted Valerius slightly so that Ginny could see him better, their hands still intertwined as they gazed down at their son together. And in that quiet, precious moment, surrounded by nothing but love and the promise of new beginnings, they both knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together—as a family.
~~~~~~
Hermione and Draco approached the reception desk at St. Mungo's, their footsteps heavy, each aware of the silent weight that lingered between them. The nurse behind the desk barely looked up as she shuffled through her paperwork, but when her eyes met Draco's, he spoke first, his calm tone belying the undercurrent of tension.
"Excuse me," he said, his voice even, but there was a sharp edge of something that Hermione couldn't quite place. "We're here to see Ginny Weasley-Zabini. She just had a baby."
The nurse's smile was warm, perhaps a little too warm, like someone who didn't quite notice the storm hovering just under the surface. She nodded briskly, gesturing down a long hallway. "Congratulations to the family," she said, her voice cheery, too cheery. "She's in Room 312. Just follow the signs."
Her heart began to race. She could feel the weight of the moment press in on her—the years of friendship, the falling out, the harsh words, the silence. This wasn't just about meeting Ginny's baby. It was about something far heavier, far more complex.
As they walked down the quiet, sterile corridor, the sound of their footsteps felt almost deafening, echoing in the empty hall like the countdown to something inevitable. Draco's presence beside her was steady, but even he seemed to sense the tension that was building between them. He didn't speak, but his eyes flickered to her every now and then, the unspoken question hanging in the air—would Hermione forgive Ginny?
She kept her gaze forward, but her mind was a battlefield. She couldn't stop replaying the argument they'd had, the things they'd both said, the way their friendship had shattered so suddenly, so violently. She wasn't sure what to expect when they walked through that door. Would Ginny greet her with warmth? Or with cold, wounded silence?
As they reached Room 312, Draco slowed his steps. He hesitated for a moment before turning to her, his voice quieter than usual. "You ready?"
The question wasn't just about meeting the baby—it was about everything that had come before. Everything that had built to this moment. Hermione felt the weight of it all pressing down on her chest. She swallowed hard, nodding, though her throat felt dry.
"This is it," she whispered, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for the doorframe. She pressed it lightly, as if trying to steady herself, to hold her composure together for what was coming next.
Draco didn't answer right away, his eyes scanning her face, noting the faint tremor in her fingers, the faint sheen of sweat at her brow. But then, as though sensing her need for space, he nodded and stepped aside. "Let's go meet the newest member of the Weasley family," he said, but his voice was more than just comforting—it was brimming with an understanding that had been earned over the years, an understanding of just how much this moment meant to her.
"Hermione... You're here," Ginny's voice was warm, but there was something guarded in it. Her smile remained, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Hermione's stomach twisted.
Hermione's chest constricted as she moved forward, her hands trembling as she reached out to take Ginny's hand. "Of course I'm here, my love," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but full of meaning.
Blaise, sitting on the sofa, appeared utterly overwhelmed. His face was streaked with tears, his usually composed demeanor shattered. He had been fighting back emotions since the moment his son was born, and it was clear he was struggling to regain his usual control. His hands trembled as he wiped his face, attempting to steady himself after having fainted earlier. When he looked up at Hermione and Draco, his smile was shaky, the joy and the exhaustion mixing in his expression.
"I'm just so… moved," Blaise said softly, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke. His words trembled with the weight of everything he was feeling. It was a raw vulnerability that most never saw from Blaise Zabini.
Draco, always attuned to his friends' unspoken emotions, gave Blaise a sympathetic look. His gaze softened, his usual steely reserve melting into something more understanding. "Are you alright, mate?" he asked, his voice quiet, the concern genuine.
Blaise managed a shallow breath, trying to pull himself together, though his voice still wavered. "Just a bit faint from all the excitement," he admitted, a rueful smile tugging at his lips as he fought to regain composure. "It's been an overwhelming day."
Hermione stepped closer, her eyes flicking between Blaise and the room around them. She could feel the intensity of the moment—the raw emotion in the air—but she didn't know what to say. There were no perfect words in a situation like this. They were all just learning to navigate this new chapter, one step at a time.
Clearly lying. The big scary hitman couldn't handle the whole ordeal.
Draco, sensing the need for a shift, looked back toward Ginny, his voice soft but with that familiar charm. "Can we come in?" he asked gently, giving her a warm, inviting smile.
Ginny, still propped up in bed with a tired but satisfied expression, nodded, her face lighting up with affection. "Of course," she said, her smile widening as she gestured toward them. There was a moment of warmth in her eyes as she met Hermione's gaze, but it was brief—fleeting, like the first signs of thawing ice.
They stepped into the room, their excitement palpable despite the tense undercurrents still lingering in the air. The room was a strange mix of serenity and quiet tension, with the soft hum of hospital machinery in the background and the gentle murmur of congratulations filling the space.
Her gaze immediately shifted to the crib beside Ginny's bed. Her heart swelled as she saw the tiny, swaddled bundle inside, so delicate and perfect in his sleep. It was almost surreal. A new life, so small, so vulnerable, and yet so full of promise. This was Ginny's son, her first child, and it filled Hermione's chest with an unspoken joy.
Draco, too, couldn't seem to tear his gaze away. He approached the crib, bending down slightly to get a better look at the little one. His voice softened, a rare tenderness in his words. "He's perfect, Ginny," he said, his gaze lingering on the tiny bundle, now fast asleep. "Valerius Zabini. What a noble, historical name. It suits him."
Ginny, still watching her son with a pride that made her eyes glisten with emotion, nodded. "Valerius," she said, her voice quiet but filled with a deep sense of love. "It means 'strong,' 'healthy,' a name with roots in history. It felt right for him."
Blaise's eyes shone with a quiet pride, his face lighting up as he watched them interact with his son. There was something in the way Ginny spoke that made his heart ache with both joy and protectiveness. This child was his legacy, the beginning of something new, and the weight of it was not lost on him. It was a name that carried power and history—a name that would one day be remembered.
Hermione, who had been standing quietly, absorbed the scene. She looked at Ginny and Blaise, both glowing in their new roles as parents. The room felt peaceful in its own way, but there was still a distance between them all—a space filled with unspoken words and unresolved tension. But for now, it was enough to be here, in this moment.
As Draco looked back at them, a soft smile played on his lips. "I think Valerius is going to do great things. You've done well, both of you."
Ginny's tired smile was filled with pride. "I hope so. I hope he's everything we dreamed of."
Hermione stepped forward, her heart full of unspoken emotions. She reached out and touched Ginny's arm lightly, offering a small but heartfelt smile. "Congratulations, Ginny," she said, her voice warm with affection, despite the complexity of everything between them. "He's a blessing."
Ginny's smile flickered, her eyes momentarily darkening with something unreadable, but she nodded, giving a soft, strained smile in return. "Thank you, love."
Blaise's hand instinctively reached out to hers, his touch tender as he looked at their son once more. The day had been nothing like he'd expected—filled with surprises, fears, and joy in equal measure. But looking at his son, his family, there was nothing else he needed. In this moment, everything was right.
"Yeah, he's perfect," he murmured, his voice still thick with emotion, his eyes never leaving the crib. "Perfect."
And as they all stood in the room, looking at Valerius, the world outside seemed distant and irrelevant. In here, in this small room, everything was changing—and Blaise could already tell that the journey ahead would be unlike anything he'd ever faced before. But for once, he was ready. Ready for whatever came next, because now he had something worth fighting for.