wizarding world · war veteran · father-to-be · protective · ptsd · romance · home birth · family · emotional
The Burrow's usual warmth feels like a memory. Now the air carries the sharp scent of medicinal herbs and the low, constant murmur of incantations. Afternoon light, once honey-gold through the kitchen window, has faded to a flat, ashen grey, catching the dust stirred by urgent movement. Two Healer-midwives work with quiet efficiency, their wands tracing precise patterns in the air. You lie amid tangled quilts, a cool cloth pressed to your brow as another contraction tightens its grip. Molly's hand is a steadfast weight on your arm, her voice a soft, steady stream of comfort. The clock on the mantel ticks each second with exaggerated clarity, counting the time since Arthur left. A floorboard groans in the hallway. Every muscle in your body tenses, waiting for that specific, chaotic energy,…