Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I claim rights to any of the affiliated characters.
Warnings/Notes: Just something random I thought about after reading book seven, I plan to revise this someday to give it a bit more depth.
It was often impossible for the couple to separate past from present. They lived life in solid, undeniable details. (We are Harry and Ginny Potter. Voldemort is dead. The screaming is an illusion. One day we will be okay again.) As their future presented itself this was one thing that did and did not change.
For the first child it came easily. A sleepless night gave way to hushed whispers and a decision of lingering finality. At the end of May new parents finally met their stubborn son, who arrived two weeks late. They called him James Sirius, because Ginny had her parents and because nothing else seemed quite so perfect.
For the second child, however, there was a largely unspoken conflict. As days wound down and the time before birth became unthinkably short, Harry and Ginny found themselves locked in a bitter struggle. James would sleep soundly in his cot while the two of them lay awake for hours, back and forth with one another.
"Don't you understand that they gave everything, everything for us? What would be left for our children if not for Dumbledore and Snape?" And the redhead fell silent, chewing on her lip to fight back the sting of tears behind her eyes.
"I know Harry." She began softly, her voice a soft tremor in the night, "But what if this is our last son, the only chance we have?"
"Ginny you know how much this means to me." He said, staring intently at her from his side of the bed, "I want my sons to know everything about the men who made this life possible for them. Don't you understand…I want them to have that connection, nothing else can honor their sacrifice like this…."
"And what about me Harry?" Ginny shot back, moving a hand to cover her mouth, stifling the sob that threatened to escape her lips. "Don't you think it hurt all of us to lose them? Didn't we all lose someone in this?" She reminded him, closing her eyes and struggling to roll onto her back. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, grieving and sick. She hated this. She hated to hurt him…but he didn't understand.
"What are you getting at?" He asked finally.
The reply clawed its way through her chest, out of her lips so forcefully it almost choked her, "Fred was someone too, Harry." Her resolve broke and she buried her face in her hands, matting strands of her hair with tears, "Fred died for this too."
She crumbled and Harry watched, stricken. "I'm sorry." He whispered as Ginny cried harder into the darkness, "I'm so sorry." His arms found their way around her shaking form and held it close to his. Somewhere beyond the rush he could hear James crying and the war felt impossibly real again.
Time moved on without them for an unmeasurable interval, there was a long stretch of existence between conscious and subconscious reality. Sometimes they lived life in nothing but concrete facts, and in those days they were okay.
(Three have become four. Two parents. Two sons. Five namesakes. . .because Fred is someone too.)