The news delivered by the spectral vulture Patronus—Molly's sudden, grief-induced premature labor—hit Arthur and Anduin with the force of a physical blow, eclipsing the horror of the twin tragedies that surrounded them.
Moody, the veteran Auror whose magical eye never seemed to blink, immediately grasped the sheer, terrifying magnitude of this new crisis. He quickly turned to Frank Longbottom, his face set in a grim mask of efficiency.
"Frank! You need to go with them. Your mother needs assistance, and Arthur needs a clear head. I'll stay here, handle the paperwork, and inform Alice. Emmeline and I will personally see to the retrieval and respectful transport of the Prewett boys. Don't you dare rush this trip, Longbottom. Get your friend to safety."
Frank, whose face had been a study in controlled sorrow, nodded once, his eyes flashing with desperate urgency. He seized Arthur's shoulder. Arthur, his hand trembling, gripped Anduin's arm, and with a jarring, frantic CRACK, the three men vanished from the desolate woodland, trading the silence of death for the clamor of a medical emergency.
"Oh, Merlin, I pray she makes it," Emmeline Vance murmured to Moody, watching the space where they had been. "The poor woman has suffered enough tragedy for a lifetime today."
The trio reappeared not outside the hospital, but within the confines of an old-fashioned, red-brick storefront—a dilapidated pharmacy that served as St. Mungo's discreet, non-magical entrance.
Arthur, breathing heavily, quickly explained their purpose to a seemingly bored, pale-faced mannequin posed in the front window. The glass then shimmered and dissolved, allowing them passage.
They stepped through the barrier into the brightly lit, surprisingly hectic atmosphere of the hospital's reception area. The waiting room was a kaleidoscope of the magically afflicted: a wizard whose nose had turned into a beetroot, a witch covered head-to-toe in humming yellow spots, and various other victims of curses and cauldrons gone wrong.
Arthur rushed to the nearest Reception Witch, a perpetually exasperated woman in lime-green robes. After a desperate query, they learned that Molly Weasley had indeed just been admitted and was being stabilized in a ward on the hospital's second floor.
The three men—Arthur, Frank, and Anduin—took the stairs two at a time, their heavy footsteps echoing through the polished corridors, past silent portraits of famous healers and strange, floating surgical instruments.
When they burst onto the second-floor corridor, they found Augusta Longbottom standing outside a closed ward door, pacing with the intense, restless energy that only extreme worry can generate. Neville was not with her, confirming Anduin's thought that the boy had been safely entrusted to Lady Diggory's care back at The Burrow.
Seeing the trio arrive, Augusta rushed forward, immediately launching into a tense, detailed explanation of the unfolding catastrophe.
"After you left," Augusta began, her voice low and strained, "I immediately sent word to Mrs. Diggory and then sat with Molly. She was quiet for a while, just weeping. I thought the shock was settling, but the grief… the grief was just too intense."
She paused, taking a ragged breath. "She suddenly began crying harder, uncontrollable sobs, and then the tears immediately turned into a cry of genuine, visceral pain. When I checked, I saw the signs—her waters had broken. The baby was coming, far too early. Mrs. Diggory, poor thing, completely panicked, frozen with fear."
Augusta, however, was a woman of immediate, decisive action. "I had no time to waste. I instructed Mrs. Diggory to stay behind—she had Cedric with her, and with all the Weasley children and Neville, she was the only one who could manage the chaos there."
Augusta's eyes hardened with resolve. "I brought Molly here immediately. The healers in the emergency room recognized the severity of the premature, shock-induced labor and rushed her straight into a ward. She's been receiving stabilizing charms and potions, but they said... they said they can't stop the labor now."
Arthur, hearing the details of his wife's suffering, looked ravaged. He took a heavy step toward the ward door, his hand hovering over the handle, desperate to see her.
But the fear of interfering with the medical team was stronger than his desire. He could only turn away, his shoulders slumped, and begin to pace the narrow corridor, a figure of absolute, helpless anxiety. His footsteps were the only sounds louder than the frantic hammering of his own heart.
After an agonizing stretch of time, the door finally opened. A Female Healer, dressed in pristine white robes, emerged, gently closing the door behind her. She was immediately besieged by the three men. The Healer calmly removed her sanitary mask, offering a measure of professional reassurance.
"The patient, Mrs. Weasley, has stabilized somewhat," the Healer reported. "She was given a strong Calming Draught and a general Revitalization Potion, which has mitigated the immediate effects of the shock. However, as you know, her waters have broken and labor has commenced. We have done everything possible to support the mother and child, but now, we can only wait for the birth to progress naturally."
Anduin, his frustration mounting with the simple, reactive nature of the treatment, stepped forward, the knowledge of his past life burning in his mind. "I apologize for the question, Healer, but is there no option for a Caesarean section? A surgical delivery to relieve the immediate stress on the mother and the premature child?"
The Healer frowned, clearly puzzled by the unfamiliar Muggle term. "A... what? A surgical section?" She dismissed the notion with a vague wave of her hand.
"That is not our method here. The patient's magical reserves have been significantly depleted by her overwhelming grief, and she is far too weak for any invasive procedures. We must rely on her natural strength, bolstered by our potions. The danger is not over, but all we can do is monitor her vital signs and wait."
Anduin felt a deep, crushing wave of despair at the magical world's stubborn adherence to tradition and its shocking lack of surgical innovation. They don't even know what a C-section is? he thought bitterly. After all these centuries of magic, the only option for a woman in distress is to just endure the suffering? The simple Muggle technology of the scalpel could save her the hours of agony!
Arthur, oblivious to the medical debate but desperate for any connection to his wife, stepped forward. "Please, can I go in? Just for a moment? I am her husband, Arthur Weasley."
The Healer hesitated, then relented. "Very briefly, Mr. Weasley. Do not tire her. You may go in for two minutes, no more."
As Arthur slipped into the ward, the three people remaining—Frank, Augusta, and Anduin—settled onto a cramped, uncomfortable wooden bench in the long, deserted corridor. The silence was punctuated only by Arthur's anxious footsteps once he reappeared and resumed his pacing.
Anduin knew the waiting would be interminable and the outside situation required management. He turned to Augusta. "We can't all be here, Augusta. I'll stay with Mr. Weasley and Frank. But you should return to The Burrow. Mrs. Diggory is excellent, but managing seven, highly distressed children—plus Neville—for an unknown period is too much for one witch. They need your authority and care."
Frank immediately agreed, standing up. "I agree. Mother, you go back first. I'll stay here for Arthur. I'll send a message to Alice later, asking her to come directly here after she's done her duties at the McKinnon scene. That way, we both cover the critical points—Hospital and Home—and neither of us will be completely delayed from our duties."
Augusta, recognizing the necessity of the plan and the wisdom of distributing the heavy burden, nodded with grateful acceptance. She squeezed Frank's hand, exchanged a look of shared duty with Anduin, and then quietly Apparated away, heading back to the emotional minefield that was The Burrow.
The waiting resumed. Arthur eventually emerged from the ward again, looking slightly steadier. "She's awake. She's quiet and lucid. She's still in pain, of course, but she has some strength back. Now we just wait," he said, his voice husky with fatigue and worry. "I just pray she and the baby survive this day."
The three men settled into a vigil. Anduin, the accidental time-traveling soldier, felt utterly useless. He knew how to mend bones, stop catastrophic bleeding, and stabilize a collapsed lung, but the profound, mysterious process of childbirth was completely beyond his knowledge base. He could only wait, feeling the depth of his powerlessness.
The hours crawled by, marked by the slow, painful shift of the corridor light and the occasional, hushed conversation with a passing Healer. Arthur would periodically slip back into the ward, just for a moment, to talk to Molly and hold her hand.
News came back via Augusta's Patronus that the situation at The Burrow was stable: Mrs. Diggory had managed to feed the children and then, exhausted, had taken Cedric home. Alice Longbottom had arrived to take over the crucial role of co-guardian, bringing her quiet, steady resolve to the house of shattered children.
It was approaching midnight when the agonizing silence of the corridor was finally and brutally broken. The soft, pained cries that had occasionally escaped the ward door suddenly transformed into loud, visceral screams of pure, desperate agony. Molly's true labor had begun.
Arthur, who had been sitting hunched on the bench, instantly launched himself to his feet. He began pacing back and forth with a manic intensity, his long strides covering the length of the corridor again and again.
The floorboards creaked under his frequent, agitated movement, and the air around him became thick with his escalating anxiety. Frank and Anduin could only watch, their own tension mirroring his, their hands clasped tight in silent solidarity.
The ordeal lasted for what felt like an eternity—a marathon of suffering that stretched the bounds of Arthur's endurance and tested the patience of the entire floor.
Then, sometime in the small, early hours of August 11th, the terrible, grinding shouts from the ward door suddenly, mercifully, subsided. A profound, immediate silence fell, a terrifying vacuum that lasted for only a few, gut-wrenching seconds.
Then, cutting through the silence, came the sound: the piercing, furious, magnificent cry of a newborn baby.
The expressions on the faces of the three men outside instantly softened. Arthur stopped dead in his tracks, his entire body shaking, his breath catching in his throat. Joy, profound and blinding, was immediately mingled with the residual terror of the last few hours. His concern instantly snapped back to his wife.
A moment later, the ward door opened. The Healer, exhausted but smiling, stepped out and delivered the blessed news that broke the tension that had been strangling them all: "Congratulations, Mr. Weasley. It's a healthy little girl, and the mother is safe and exhausted."
Anduin's relief was immense, yet it was immediately overshadowed by a wave of complex, conflicting emotion. He felt a deep surge of loving, motherly compassion for Molly, who had endured this tragedy and birth with impossible strength, but also an immense sadness for the two lives that had been brutally extinguished just hours before this new one began.
The joyous event and the funeral preparation were not separate; they were tragically intertwined, two complex emotions warring for dominance in the confines of a single hospital room.
The following morning was a blur of necessary logistics. Alice Longbottom arrived at the hospital, her expression soft but resolute. She requested extended leave for herself and Frank from the Auror Office, citing the necessity of supporting a critical Order family member and ensuring the security of their children.
The Ministry, still reeling from the events in Cornwall, immediately granted Arthur Weasley his leave as well.
The Longbottom family collectively decided to take shifts in the coming week to manage the dual crisis. The Weasleys needed time—time to grieve their lost heroes, and time to process the sudden, overwhelming joy of new life.
For the next few days, Anduin and Augusta became the anchors of The Burrow. Frank and Alice focused their considerable strength and compassion on the hospital, taking turns caring for Molly and the newborn, ensuring that Arthur could have moments of rest.
At The Burrow, Anduin's role was unexpectedly domestic. He spent most of his time in the kitchen, expertly using simple charms and efficient planning to manage the massive, daily task of cooking for the seven Weasley boys plus Neville. Augusta, with her deep understanding of domestic care, managed the general housekeeping and the emotional needs of the older children.
The usually loud, restless, and chaotic Weasley boys were unsettlingly quiet. The sudden, unexplained departure of their mother, combined with their father's somber visits and hushed conversations, had cast a deep shadow over the house.
They were subdued, confused, and profoundly disappointed that they couldn't immediately meet their new baby sister, who was confined to the sterilized environment of the hospital ward due to her premature birth.
Arthur returned to The Burrow several times a day, fulfilling his role as the crucial messenger, always bringing good news to maintain morale. He reported that Molly was recovering quickly and that her fighting spirit, though bruised, was entirely intact.
He explained that their youngest daughter, whom they had provisionally named Ginevra, still needed her mother's unique, magically-enhanced breast milk and was currently too fragile for the bustling, noisy atmosphere of The Burrow. They would have to wait a little longer before they could bring their little sister—a sign of hope—home.