Molly turned her back on the reception desk and surveyed the waiting room. As ever, it was occupied by rather too many people. The empty chair in the row nearest the reception desk was now occupied by a wizard sitting exceptionally straight with the branches of a small fir tree emerging from his ears and suspiciously green hair in his nostrils, so she began the waddle to the next nearest empty chair, three quarters of the way across the room next to a door marked 'Private'.

As she approached, she could hear the young redhead in the next seat talking to the toddler she was bouncing on her knee.
"Some little horsies go walk, walk, walk,
Some little horsies go trot, trot, trot,
And some little horsies go
A-gallop a-gallop a-gallop!"

"Is that a muggle rhyme?"

From the look on the young woman's face, it was, but she covered herself quickly. "I couldn't tell you. My grandmother likes it, and Harry liked it when we saw her last month, so," she shrugged. Then, focussing more on Molly, "Oh, sit down and take the weight off. No one's sitting here - or at least, I hope the old curmudgeon that was isn't rude enough to ask you to move if he comes back."

Molly laughed briefly and lowered herself carefully into the empty seat. As she did, the younger woman turned back to the toddler, asking, "Are you going to say 'Hello', Harry?"

"Erro," said Harry with an exceptionally serious expression. Then, having worked something out to his satisfaction, a bright smile broke across his face. "Auntie!"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" exclaimed his mother, pulling him close. "It's - Well, every redhead he's met has been from my family, and you're a woman, so..."

"Oh, I know all about the things children say," laughed Molly, "and I should think any woman should be happy to have a handsome young man calling them Auntie, don't you?" she asked the boy, who nodded firmly in his mother's grasp. His mother still looked mortified, so she added, "There aren't so many redheads around, and there are times I feel like I'm related to half of magical Britain. As often as not, when I'm wishing I could choose my family."

"Don't get me started on family," came the reply, starting as a snarl and finishing a sigh. Abruptly, she asked, "Are you hoping for a girl or a boy?"

"A girl would be nice, although I'm afraid she would end up getting spoiled," she admitted, accepting the change in subject and rubbing her distended midriff. Family was a touchy subject for many people in magical Britain, muggleborns often more so than purebloods. "The whole family's expecting another boy, though."

"You already have children, then?" asked the younger woman, eyes flicking across the room, almost as if expecting to see a playmate for her own son.

"I left the boys with my husband and brothers for the morning. Ron is old enough he doesn't need me every minute, and he needs to learn that before this one is born."

"I do sometimes feel like I'm tied to Harry. It is getting better, and he does like his father and our close friends well enough, but..."

"Some time to yourself is precious," agreed Molly, "even if it is just a routine prenatal checkup."

"Some time out of the house is precious," came the correction. "Everything's new and exciting to Harry, and I don't need to worry about his insistence on everything being blue..."

"Bloo!" objected Harry, slapping his mother on the arm.

"Harry!" scolded his mother. "No hitting!"

Little Harry's eyes widened as he froze on her lap.

"Now, what do you say?"

"Mmm... Sowwy?"

"That's right," said his mother, drawing him in for a gentle hug.

"My word," breathed Molly. The younger woman followed her gaze, and sighed at the sight of the distinct royal blue handprint over the simple pattern of flowers on her robes.

"My nephew leaves his handprints in jam, or chocolate, but Harry..." she laughed ruefully at some memory. "At least it fades after a while. I don't know where Tuney finds that strawberry stuff Dudley likes, but it must be half ink the difficulty I had getting it out."

"I find that when Scourgify doesn't work, Purgo does - it's a little obscure, and takes more effort to cast, but it is very effective," said Molly almost absently, still mostly captivated by the handprint.

"I wish I'd known that," sighed the younger woman. "I tried Decolor, but that worked better on the fabric than on the stain - I ended up turning the whole dress white and redying it."

"From strawberry jam?"

"Allegedly. Considering what it did to my dress, I don't think it was made of strawberries." She brushed a hand over the little handprint with a rueful little smile.

"Can't you change it back?"

"Not on a pattern like this," explained the younger woman. "I don't have the artistic talent to do more than simple stripes with a colour-changing charm, and finite doesn't work at all. He might start to be argumentative if I turn it back, as well, which I don't want to encourage, especially not here."

Molly followed her glance around the room, noting a handful of fiercely upright postures among the others waiting, and nodded understandingly. "Yes, I quite oof!"

"Are you alright?" Expertly shifting her toddler to one arm, the younger woman rested a calming hand on Molly's as she asked, "Should I call for..."

"No, no. Just the little one kicking." She gave a reassuring smile as she moved their hands to her midriff. "All my padding's on the outside."

The women shared a smile as they felt the baby kick again.

"Would you like to feel?"

Harry looked dubious, but allowed his mother to place his hand at Molly's waist. His eyes widened into perfect circles as he felt another kick inside her.

"I do wonder, sometimes," said his mother softly, "what he'll make of being a big brother."

"Oh, are you..."

"No, no. Not yet. It's just my elder sister was so..." She shook herself. "We do intend more children, though. We're still discussing how many."

"Oh. I was the eldest, myself, but if my boys are anything to go by, if you're not pregnant soon he'll be of the age to be jealous of the baby. Bill didn't have any problems when Percy was born, but Charlie wasn't very happy at all, and then Percy was the only one to act up when I had Ron." Seeing the concern on the younger woman's face, she added, "It wasn't a big problem, and most witches don't have their children that close together anyway."

"So the healers tell me. But Elisa Hope - Greengrass I should say - is already expecting again, and, well," she gestured at Molly.

"That's my mother's heritage, I'm afraid. We're the exception to that rule. My Great-great-grandmother claimed our ancestresses were hereditary priestesses of the ancient goddess of fields, but then she also told me her recipe for raspberry wine had been handed down from the Romans and I wouldn't feed it to a cockatrice." She shared a smile for the foibles of aged relatives. "As for the other reason for children coming close together, you certainly don't need to worry about this young man being a squib."

Predictably, the young mother smiled at the implied complement to her son. Then her eyes fell on him, and she pulled him back into her embrace. "Oh, Harry," she cried, securing him at her other hip. "I'm sorry, he's left handprints on your robe now..."

"Oh, don't worry," reassured Molly, peering past her own forefront to see the damage. "This robe's seen worse, I'm certain. Oh, is that a pink one?"

Both women looked at the odd handprint, overlapping one of the others but a distinct baby pink shade. Molly pulled at the fabric for a better view.

"It's smaller than the others..." noted his mother uncertainly.

The only reply was an absent hum as Molly grappled mentally with the same observation.

Harry wriggled from his mother's loosening grip and rested his hands at Molly's waist. She twitched.

"Another kick?"

"No," breathed Molly, wide-eyed. "That wasn't a kick."

"I'll call..." began Harry's mother, starting to stand and pulling Harry up to her hip. As his hands lifted, they revealed two more double handprints. Blue hands and smaller pink ones clasped each other.

"Mrs Weasley? Mrs Weasley? Midwife MacCafferey will see you now," shouted the Welcome Witch randomly. "Mrs Weasley for Midwife MacCafferey."

"That's me," said Molly, startled out of her wonder. As briskly as she could manage, she rose from her chair and straightened her robe. "Would - would you like to bring Harry to meet my children? Ron is about the same age..."

"That would be nice," agreed the younger woman, still gazing at the handprints.

"Good, good. I'll send you an owl... Bye-bye, Harry."

Harry returned her wave with an uncertain smile. "B-bye?"

Molly twitched again. "I think that was the baby waving bye-bye, too." Harry's smile widened and he waved much more vigorously. Glancing back as she started up the stairs to the midwife's office, she saw him still waving. Her last wave back was interrupted by another little flick from inside, and he lowered his hands to his lap.

"Perhaps," she mused to herself as she climbed the stairs, "I need to put a little more thought into girls' names."