His Warrior

Pause

It was now mid-November, just over two weeks since we had the meeting. Since then everyone in the pack had made an effort to trust and interact with Peter.

Similarly, Peter had made an effort to trust them. Finding it hard to let people in again after being mentally manipulated for 16 years.

In the first week after the meeting, Peter and I had figured out how exactly we were both going to get into St Mungos without being detected as ourselves. Especially considering, that every magical, and even some muggle, institutions in the country had been rigged with Deatheaters.

They supervised like hawks, ensuring that things were running exactly how they wanted. Ensuring that no one was helping the Order.

Peter suggested that he could sneak through easily in his rat form. Whereas I would have to find another alternative. Considering I wasn't an illegal Animagus like the Marauders.

Eventually I had the idea that I would use the polyjuice potion to transfigure my appearance into Mrs Longbottom, Neville's grandmother. I'd just have to find out her address and ask for a sample of her hair.

However, all plans beyond this point were put on halt, due to the baby. Entering my third month, I found myself becoming increasingly sick and fragile. Barely able to hold down small snacks and only being able to stomach water and Cranberry juice.

Peter had been growing increasingly concerned for my health. He worried that my distance from Harry would weaken my magical core and therefore my physical health. The same way my mother's pregnancy did to her.

So, Peter set to work by learning as much as he could about pregnancy and labour with the elder women of the pack. They happily helped Peter if it meant helping me.

In the two weeks that Peter had been learning, he quickly became a pregnancy healthnut. Whenever I was sick in the mornings he would hold my hair out of my face and rub my back in soothing circles, just like Andy had taught him. He would also have a glass of water and flavourless mouthwash ready for me afterwards.

He made fresh gingerbread every evening, so that I could snack on it throughout the following day. The ginger helping with my nausea somewhat.

He also ensured that I always had someone around; that I was never left alone and 'unprotected'. Often it was Hunter that Peter left in charge of babysitting me, as he knew I preferred my time alone.

Peter's mothering nature and protectiveness towards me had opened Sam and Andy's eyes to the person Peter was before he was cursed. As well as my own. Andy had even allowed for Si to have sleepovers in our cabin.

Back to the present, I currently found myself wrapped in blankets, sat on the chair by the fire. Silas was sat in the gap next to me, reading to the baby. An activity that Si happily made into a daily routine.

I smiled down at Silas, who had his head rested just above my small bump. I carded my fingers through his dirty blonde hair, and held the other side of the book open for Si, where it rested across our laps.

"When Margaret grows up... she will have a... a uhhh-..."

"daughter," I provided softly, as I often did when Si was reading. Nodding, Si carried on,

"Daughter!... who is to be Peter's mummy... and... thhh-uuss... it will go on, so long as children are guh-aye... gay?..." Si enquired, to which I nodded praising him for using his phonics before reading on for him, as I knew he would struggle.

"...for so long as children are gay, innocent and heartless... The end!" I chirped quietly, gently shutting the story of Peter Pan and placing it on the small coffee table next the chair.