#saraby

“The matagot… or crup. You think crups make better pets than matagots.”

“Yep. And I stand by that, Barn. No matagots for pets.”

“Okay.” He paused. “What’s my muggle sweet?”

“Love hearts. They’re your favorite.”

“Yep.”

Sara unlocked the door, letting out a breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding as Barnaby came into view. He was always a sight for sore eyes. A tall broad form with chestnut brown hair and bright green eyes and a five o’clock shadow dancing around his jawline. He wore his usual leather jacket, the one she’d gifted him upon completion of the magiozoologist training program. 

“Evening, love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

“Evening,” she echoed, looking down at the hand that still grasped the test from earlier as if just realizing that she hadn’t left it behind in their bathroom.

“How was your day?” 

Barnaby looked up when she didn’t respond. “Sara?” he asked.

She sighed. “I have some big news,” she replied.

“What’s up?”

“Well, I’ve been feeling a little off the past few weeks and noticed that I’d missed it last month and that plus the vomiting plus the exhaustion led me go and get a few muggle tests because I don’t want to go to someone and risk this getting out much further than I want it to.”

“Sara…”

“Well, what I’m trying to tell you without actually saying it, ‘cause we both agreed that waiting until after the war was ideal and we haven’t even been married a year yet.”

“Sara…”

“I’m pregnant, Barnaby.”

He froze for half a second, barely enough time for panic to set into Sara’s gut, but it started anyways. But then, Barnaby let out a whoop and spun her around. The test that she’d still been holding crashed to the ground.

“Merlin’s beard. I shouldn’t have done that should I?” Barnaby asked.

“It’s fine, Barnaby. There’s a lot more danger out there right now. But you’re happy?” Sara asked.

“Of course, I am. I’ve always wanted kids with you. You’ll be an amazing mum, Sara, love. I know it. You’re so kind to everyone.”

“I know it’s not the ideal time.”

“Would it ever be?” 

Sara froze at Barnaby’s words. He was right. There would probably never be the right time for kids. And they’d already been moving cautiously. 

“I suppose you’re right. I just wasn’t expecting it,” she replied after a moment.

Barnaby smiled and pulled her close, cradling her face with his large hands before gently pressing his lips to hers. Sara sighed, moving her hands to thread through Barnaby’s hair. After they broke apart, Barnaby’s hand traveled gently to her stomach, a look of awe breaking out on his face.

“I love you, Barnaby Abernathy Lee,” Sara breathed.

“Happy Christmas, my love,” her husband, Barnaby, said, leaning over to press a kiss onto the top of her head.

“Merry Christmas, Barn,” Sara replied, wrapping her hand tightly around his. 

“Was this Christmas everything that you imagined?” 

“Yeah, I think it was. Dora and Declan were so excited for everything. I don’t think we’ll ever get this Ireland quidditch sweater off Dec.”

Barnaby laughed, fondly looking down at their son. Sara’s brother, Conor, had gifted their eldest boy an Ireland quidditch sweater, which their boy had quickly fallen in love with. The boy had even put the sweater on over his pajamas. 

“It was a good Christmas, Barnaby. Everything about it this year was good. Actually, I’m surprised at how smoothly this all went,” Sara said.

“Yeah. I thought it would be a lot more stressful with four. Brendan’s so laid back though,” Barnaby replied. 

“I hope you liked your gifts.”

“Those gloves are absolutely incredible. They’ll be so helpful in the cold. I love them, Sara. I really do. What about you?”

“The necklace is beautiful, Barn. I don’t know where you thought of the idea, but I absolutely adore it. Same with the little ornament with all six of our names on them.” 

Two: The O’Donnell-Lyman Home, December 24, 2016 

“Momma, why do we light all these candles?” Naomi O’Donnell, aged 7, asked, leaning over the kitchen table, watching as Ruth worked on setting out on the different candles.

“The purple and pink candles are for advent. That’s for the lead-up to Christmas. Dad can explain those better than me. The blue ones and white one are for Hanukkah, which is what my family celebrates,” Ruth explained.

“I like Hanukkah. The food is so fun and good,” Naomi replied.

“Yeah, Hanukkah has good food. We celebrate that because I’m Jewish, just like we have other traditions and holidays than Dad.”

“What’s Daddy, then?”

“Dad’s Catholic, so he has different holidays than I do.”

“Why?”

“Well, we have different beliefs from religions. For Dad, his religion says that Jesus is the son of God and very important. My religion doesn’t believe that. Only God is important, while Jesus isn’t very important and can be seen as hard to understand.”

“What do I believe?” Naomi asked.

“You can believe whatever you want to, Naomi. Dad and I don’t have any one way we want you or your brothers to believe. That’s why we celebrate Hanukkah and Christmas, Passover and Easter. We get to cover the important parts of each culture.” 

“Oh. Is that why we eat certain things sometimes?”

“Yeah, that’s right kiddo.”

The door to the kitchen opened, bringing with it a burst of cold air. Stamping feet immediately followed as Ruth looked up to her husband and two sons. Snow clung to their hair and Conor had taken off his glasses to wipe away the fog. 

“Got the potatoes you asked for,” Conor announced, lifting up a big bag.

“Conor, how many potatoes did you get?” Ruth asked.

“Really?” Sara raised her eyebrow. Despite being only six months old, Violet was an incredibly good sleeper.

“Or maybe with Dec.” 

That sounded more accurate. Her son had recently decided that sleep was for the weak and the best thing that a two-year-old could do was stay up the whole night. He’d also quit napping, right around the time that Violet was born because of course he did.

“The people, Momma,” Dora exclaimed, sounding exasperated in the way that only a four-year-old could. 

Sara sighed, but pulled Dora into her lap anyways. She placed the photo album into their laps, flipping back to the first page of photos.

“Who do you know?” she asked, pointing to the first picture.

“That’s Unca Ryan!” Dora exclaimed in excitement, pointing to the sixteen-year-old form of her middle brother. “And that’s Unca Conor and Aunt Cara and Aunt Penny and Aunt Rowan!”

“Yeah. That’s right. And there’s me and Daddy.”

“The people?”

Sara stared at the next photo for a long moment, a bittersweet smile forming on her face. The photo had been taken in her sixth year, by Charlie Weasley with Penny Haywood’s camera. The five Hufflepuff girls were smiling widely, Tonks’s hair changed color every other moment. They had no idea what was to come, how much things would change, that in ten short years one of them would be dead.

“Well, that’s Momma and that’s Aunt Penny and that’s Aunt Rowan,” Sara began pointing to each of the girls as she said their names. “And this is Chiara. She sometimes works with Momma.” 

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “This is Tonks. She was probably my best friend. We were not the type of friendship that people expected. Tonks was kind of like Uncle Ryan and I was not. She passed away a while ago, so she’s with Grandma and Granda O’Donnell. In fact, Dora, we named you after her.”

There was no response and Sara looked down. Dora’s eyes were shut and she clung tightly to the plush bunny that Sara hadn’t realized that her daughter had brought down with her. She gently closed the photo album and placed it onto the coffee table, scooping Dora up to bring her to bed. Once Dora had been settled into bed, Sara took a moment to peak in on baby Violet, who was sleeping soundly. The nature of a third child, Sara supposed. She paused at the top of the stairs, smiling at the sound of Barnaby’s baritone, softly muted through the door of their son’s bedroom.

She stepped back into the living room and slid the photo album back into the bookcase by the fireplace. She stared at the photos on the bookcase. There were a myriad of photos, reflecting the many different points in her life. Herself as a child, grinning with her grandparents and siblings. Her time at Hogwarts. A photo of her and Barnaby after their lowkey wedding. A photo of her holding baby Dora and one with baby Declan and a third one with baby Violet. The newest family photo, with her siblings and new nephew, Michael, and her sisters-in-law. One of her and Barnaby at each of her siblings’ weddings. One of the cursebreaking crew members in the Order of the Phoenix. One of her and Tonks.

“Love?” Barnaby’s voice and arms wrapping around her waist startled herself out of the trance.

“Declan asleep?” she asked.

“Yeah. Kid conked out right after I started talking about the different ways to care for creatures.”

“That boy is not going to follow your footsteps into magiozoology.”

“No, he is not. What’s on your mind, my dear?”

“Dora asked about some photos from our younger days. I’ve been thinking about Tonks a lot tonight.”

“Oh, love.”

“Yeah. But you know, Barn, it feels like her death meant something. There’s been so many other pointless deaths in my life but hers felt different.”

“We won.”