Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Harry James Potter, named such for his grandfather and father respectively, was born on the thirty-first of July in the year nineteen eighty. His birth was observed by Saint Mungo's Healers, Tillibet Marfold and Ralphy Dennis, and James Potter. Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Lily Evans were in attendance (though a separate room, of bloody course), and first to hold the child after Gwen and James was Sirius.
Harry had his father's hair and his mother's eyes. Though he had the same squished, newborn face all babies tend to when fresh into the world, Sirius insisted he could already see the resemblance, and Lily told Gwen she was holding the world's cutest baby.
"He isn't very cute, though," said Gwen, frowning, "is he? Face really is a bit squishy."
"Tosh," said Sirius, a bit white-faced but smiling nonetheless. "That's the exact face James made when he lost Quidditch matches back at school, don't you think, Moony?"
Sirius had been reluctant to come with when James, Gwen, and Remus had bustled off to Saint Mungo's, though not for lack of want—he didn't feel welcome, having just gotten in a shouting match with all three of his accompanying birth-goers, and didn't think anyone would have wanted him there. This, of course, was only classic Sirius, and Gwen, breathless with pain and nearly doubled over, called him an idiot and told him to come along so she could "get this damn thing out already, please!"
As it turned out, pre-labour Gwen was clearly not the right person for Sirius to extend an apology to, and, having been shouted at yet again, he retreated from her bedside back to the lounge to wait with Remus and Lily.
After the birth, though, he was the first inside, and the first words out of his mouth were an apology, an explanation for the way he acted. This remarkable act of maturity was not missed by Gwen, of course—though high on Wizarding painkillers, she was a bit loony, so she merely smiled at him and held out her arms to reveal a smushed face wrapped in a bundle of blankets.
"His name is Harry," said James, who had hastily tried to wipe away the wet streaks down his cheeks and hide them behind his glasses. "Harry," he added, quietly, in direction to his new son, "meet your family."
Gwen's last surviving grandmother was the next visitor, having Apparated straightaway when she'd heard the news. She, the only person Gwen knew who had already given birth, had months ago offered the best words of comfort out of anyone, which was that everything became worth it rather quickly once you saw your child for the first time.
She had been right: Gwen had never felt as content as she had when she laid eyes on Harry.
Mary and Marlene were in soon after, and though Gwen was growing tired of visitors, she could not deny Mary when she burst into tears on the spot and became a blubbering mess at the sight of the child.
