Chapter 3: Eight

Seamus had known intellectually that his parish priest celebrated Morning Prayer, or Lauds, every morning save Wednesday, which was his lone day off. He had no idea how well it was attended. He certainly hadn't attended it, before. Thanks to Father Quinn's ambush, he now knew that the chapel was more than half way full, mostly with older women, including his own mother, but there were a few men there as well.

Today was the Feast of Saint Thomas, the Apostle, which meant that Father Quinn was wearing his red robes. It also meant that the homily had been on belief. Seamus had actually paid rather close attention to it.

The question was, what did it take to believe? How did you decide that what you heard was true? Could you trust something that your friends said was true? How could something totally incredible be believed? There was very little that Seamus felt was too incredible to believed. Not after his first year at Hogwarts.

He nearly missed his cue to help with the Eucharist, being Father Quinn's extra hands, basically, standing next to him as he recited the prayers.

"Humbly, we pray that, partaking of the Body and Blood of Christ, we may be gathered as one by the Holy Spirit.

"Remember, Lord, your Church, spread throughout the world, and bring her to the fullness of Charity, together with John Paul, our Pope, Cahal, our Bishop, and all the clergy.

"Remember also our brothers and sisters who have fallen asleep in the hope of the resurrection,

and all who have died in your mercy: welcome them into the light of your face. have mercy on us all, we pray, that with the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God, with the blessed Apostles, and all the Saints who have pleased you throughout the ages, we may merit to be coheirs to eternal life, and may praise and glorify you, though your Son, Jesus Christ."

Seamus almost zoned out again, the familiar words washing over him. When he'd gone to Hogwarts, he'd worried that he might lose his faith. He'd heard about witchcraft trials, and though he knew those were long in the past, it seemed to him that he couldn't be Christian anymore. Not going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, that had seemed to him to be the death knell of his acceptance as a Catholic.

Seamus had spent the last couple weeks before Hogwarts seated in the back of Saint Columcille's, often sitting through Evening Prayer, but never taking communion. Somehow, the Church had been the one thing he had been afraid to lose by becoming a wizard. Father Quinn thought he was just afraid to go to boarding school. Seamus wasn't allowed to tell him the truth.

That first Sunday at Hogwarts, the first Sunday he could ever recall not going to Mass and not being sick, he'd wandered around, mourning the words he thought he would never hear again.

That was, until he came across Hogwarts' chapel, and heard the words of the Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff house ghost intoning, just as Father Quinn was now.

"Peace, I leave with you, my peace, I give to you. Look not on our sins, but on the faith of your Church, and graciously grant her peace and unity in accordance with your will, who live forever and ever, Amen."

It wasn't long before Seamus was standing next to Father Quinn, the chalice in his hand, for the first time acting as an extraordinary minister of the Eucharist in his home parish. He'd been surprised to find out that Father Quinn knew he'd done it at Hogwarts. In a school where the priest was a ghost, and no one else on staff was very religious, it was almost required that one or more of the students step up to the role. Seamus had done it three times before, in Hogwarts' small chapel.

Not everyone took both the body and blood, so it didn't surprise Seamus that a couple old ladies bypassed him. It did surprise him that the first to stop in front of him was his mother. He nearly forgot his line. "Blood of Christ," he said, offering the chalice to his mother.

"Amen," she said, taking the chalice and a sip of the wine.

Then she handed it back to him, her smile telling him that she was proud of him. He wiped the cup, and turned it for the next communicant, Widow O'Malley.

Seamus smiled. He'd been so worried about not having his Faith anymore, something that was at the heart of his family. It just wasn't right to not go to Saint Columcille's.

Even if he had to get up at bloody five in the morning to go to Mass.

Hermione Granger was out in the front garden, sitting on the swing hanging from the big oak. She'd discovered that the simple board and rope swing was actually one of the easier seats for her to get up from. She'd left the house right after breakfast. She'd hoped to be able to sleep in, as she knew her days of being able to do so were numbered. Soon she'd be living her life to the rhythm of the baby filling her swollen womb, a baby who could decide that now was the time to come out at any moment.

Her arms went around the ropes of the swing, allowing her hands to rest on her bulging belly. She would not miss being pregnant. Her back ached, especially since this morning, her feet were too swollen for her sneakers. Hardly any of her summer clothes fit at all. In fact the thin white and blue checked sun dress she was currently wearing was the only one she'd managed to on. There was currently a pile of discards next to her bed.

She'd had to get out of the house. Hermione knew that once she gave birth, going anywhere would be a major task. She suspected that she'd be spending a great deal of time in her room. Her mother wasn't letting her go far, but the front garden was fine.

"Hermione Granger," came the scandalized tone of the widow Mrs. Richardson. Mrs. Richardson had been Hermione's babysitter when she was young, and currently lived with her brother, the retired Lutheran pastor, Reverend Ingqvist. Hermione looked up to discover the old lady stopped just on the other side of the driveway. Her black cane, was up in her hands. As far as Hermione could recall, Mrs. Richardson never actually used or needed her cane, but it was always at hand. She wore the black garb of a morning old woman, broken only by a silver otter pin above her right breast. Her bright white hair was curled, residing under a black pill box hat, also adored with a silver otter. Her expression was an open gasp of surprise.

"Good Morning, Mrs. Richardson," Hermione said, remembering to keep her tone even and respectful. She'd learnt to keep that tone while under Mrs. Richardson's care.

"What happened to you, my dear girl?" Mrs. Richardson replied.

"I'm having a baby," Hermione said, simply, not wishing to go further.

"I would say that's obvious, dear girl, but would have thought you much too young to bring scandal to your family," Mrs Richard said, crossing the driveway. "When are you due?"

"Any day now," Hermione said, as she suddenly felt a contraction. It wasn't the first time she'd felt one. She'd had a few what Madam Pomfrey called practice contractions over the last couple weeks. This was, however, the second she could recall today.

"People now days. In my day you wouldn't have returned from 'school' until after the baby was born," Mrs. Richardson said. "Then your mother would suddenly have another child. Of course, everyone knew what really happened, but there was at least some deniably. Of course with your mother having her second at her age, I suppose that wasn't really possible. I suppose some older boy got you in trouble?"

"Not quite," Hermione gasped in reply as another contraction hit her.

"Are you okay dear?" Mrs. Richardson asked. "You look a bit peaked."

Another contraction hit her. "I think I'm having the baby." She'd been warned that her labor could start quickly, but she hadn't expected it like this. She stood on shaky legs.

"Well, I would say that would be obvious, dear girl," Mrs. Richardson said. "Given your current figure, that is. Children these days just don't understand the need for understatement."

"No," Hermione panted. "I think I'm having it now. Harry!" Hermione cried out as Harry peaked out the front door. Her hand grasped the pendent that Madam Pomfrey had given her. As her hand touched it, she felt a water start to flow from between her legs.

"Hermione!" Harry replied, running over to her side.

Hermione found herself breathing hard before another contraction hit her. She did not say goodbye to Mrs. Richardson, as Harry helped her back inside. There was a chaise lounge in the parlor, and Harry guided her to it, rightly realizing that there was no way Hermione was going to make it upstairs.

As she laid down on it, she heard the pop of her school nurse's arrival. "Miss Granger," came the familiar voice from around the corner. "How far are they apart?"

"Less than a minute," Hermione replied right before another contraction hit, causing her to cry out wordlessly and squeeze Harry's hand hard enough that he grimaced.

"Right, the baby's coming quickly then," Madam Pomfrey said, looking at the parlor. She put down her bag, opened it, and pulled out a stack of towels. Then with a wave of her wand, Hermione's dress slid off, leaving her naked. "No, that posture is just not going to work for you, Miss Granger, I want you to squat on the floor, now. Mr. Potter, get behind her and support her."

Once the two had assumed the correct position, Hermione squatting as Harry kneeled and held her steady from behind, having been corrected by Pomfrey several times, Madam Pomfrey placed a soft folded towel between Hermione's feet. She only had a couple more contractions, which sent hair raising screams echoing through the house before the nurse began to silently cast.

The pain of trying to push a bowling ball size head through a much too small hole disappeared. Hermione felt her hips widening, and instead of the next painful contraction she felt her baby beginning to slide gently out of her body with the pull of gravity. It actually tickled a bit. She looked down and saw the baby emerging from her body. As his little toes cleared her body, he settled gently on the towel, the umbilical cord still trailing up into Hermione's body.

With the touch of Madam Pomfrey's wand, that cord detached. A quick wave of her wand, and Madam Pomfrey had the baby clean and swaddled in the towel. With the afterbirth quickly disposed of, Hermione found herself back on the chase lounge, her baby boy placed in her arms.

Hermione looked down at the tiny baby that had grown inside her. He'd been quiet so far, but Hermione knew that was not going to last, as she held him up against her breast. He found her nipple, and for the first time she stared down in wonder at the baby suckling milk from her breast. He had just a bit of black hair, matching his father. His eyes were closed at the moment as he suckled, but she knew that eventually they'd be the deep green of his father's. She felt Harry's arm around her shoulders, and she looked up at him and smiled.