cassia greengrass doesn't exactly "hate" gryffindors, unlike the rest of her house. that doesn't mean she'll end up falling for one in particular... right?
NOT ACCEPTING TRANSLATIONS
cassia.
harry james potter
book 1 ( goblet of fire - order of the...
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THE 24TH OF FEBRUARY, 1980, saw Marlowe Greengrass pooled in sweat and blood, on her back and elbows in pain, rattling, throbbing breaths and screams quaking her entire body and the hospital. The Maternity ward in St. Mungo's was the least welcoming place she wanted to be in, and she wasn't overly fond of the patronisingly, overly nice midwives having to tend to her — she'd been carrying twins for the last nine months, one of which absolutely loved to constantly thrash what was left of her womb while the other stayed considerably dormant most of the time though packed a mean punch when it felt like it. Her first ever pregnancy was difficult, painful, and all Marlowe wanted was for these babies to get out and for her to stop craving the scent of talcum powder all the time. She was done. She was exhausted. And she just wanted to sleep without there being a yoga ball restricting her every time she rolled onto her side, and for Baby Number One to stop ramming it's foot into her lower back every time Baby Number Two tried stretching its minuscule arms, because god knows the cramped up space there'd been for two babies in that one womb.
(But she also just couldn't hold back anymore — she needed to see her babies.)
First had come Daphne Esmeralda Greengrass. Marlowe and Phoenix Greengrass had no idea of their child's genders: it was in their interest that it would remain a surprise till the end. But Marlowe was hardly able to appreciate the beauty of her baby girl because she was exhausted, in pain, and not to mention, there was another baby to push out too. Daphne turned out to be Baby Number Two.
Which meant that seven minutes later, after rushed healing spells and water and Marlowe spewing many more curse words at her poor husband—whose hand was sure to require surgery after this day—Cassia Mileva Greengrass, Baby Number One, was born. It was only after Marlowe had regained what possible strength she could gather in the coming minutes, that her husband, tears brimming his eyes, had came over with both baby girls resting in the crook of each elbow, looking as proud as a new young father could. He'd returned to Marlowe's side with his daughters after having shown them to the Auror guarding their wing —because it was a time of danger and Dark Wizards were plentiful—Kingsley Shacklebolt.
(Not only because he was an excellent Auror. Because Kingsley Shacklebolt was Marlowe's closest and oldest friend and it would get ugly if a pregnant woman with the temper of Marlowe and the pressure of needing to give birth to two infants didn't have her wishes sufficed. If there was going to be an auror guarding her ward, Marlowe would except no one else but Kingsley.)
And like so many, Marlowe's breath was taken when Phoenix let her take Cassia and Daphne for the first time, and it all felt right. It didn't matter that they were at the time of a rising war, or that Marlowe's hospital gown was itching in unbearable places or that she stunk of body odour and was the epitome of a living breathing sweat molecule. It didn't matter that the pregnancy she endured was difficult as hell and she had one baby at constant unrest (Cassia) while her other baby (Daphne) was slightly bigger and that Marlowe was so sure that she'd eaten into the other baby's food a couple of times. But that didn't matter.
