James and Gwen turned nineteen on the twenty-seventh and -eighth of March 1979, respectively, and their birthdays were observed by each of their closest friends in perhaps—or, at least, what Sirius called it—the world's smallest birthday party to ever exist.

     True, their guest list was limited, but there was only so much trust left in the world, and with their birthdays and upcoming wedding so close in timing to each other, they figured to keep each of the celebrations tight-knit for obvious reasons. Only family and close friends—really close friends—were invited to each.

     Peter could only make it to the marriage celebration in July, and Ted had a prior commitment to the Order that rendered him only available for the March celebration. Sirius, Fleamont, Euphemia, Marlene, Mary, Lily, Jackie, and Remus turned up to both. Sirius, despite his prior demands to act as Maid of Honour, was perfectly content when James offered him the role of Best Man. Remus stood in for Gwen's father and walked her down the aisle. Peter, though only an ordained minister through a short spell from Moody, officiated the wedding and declared the couple married by the end; Euphemia had been crying so hard that she missed their first kiss as a married couple and demanded that they re-do it at the reception in the Potter's backyard.

"The flowers are nice," Jackie had commented, first thing, when she walked into the household, "but I'm mostly just surprised you were able to convince Potter not to host it in a Quidditch pitch."

James grinned and gave Jackie a welcoming hug. "You'd be interested to know there are actually a limited number of things I care more about than Quidditch."

"Emphasis on limited," Gwen added, as she twirled her wand and strung up the final row of twinkling fairy lights. (Called so because of the entrapped Fairy Dust that gave the flickering glow, of course). She offered Jackie a smile and kiss on the cheek, and was overwhelmed, suddenly, with how much she had missed her. "I'm glad you could make it, Jackie. Feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

"Yeah, well." Jackie exhaled a sigh and slid her hands into her Muggle jeans' back pockets. "War can do that to you, y'know. Muddle up your sense of time. I saw you last year at Diagon Alley."

"Oh." Gwen's lips twitched; she had forgotten entirely. "Right. Well, thanks for coming, anyway..."

The wedding went over much too smoothly for Gwen's adeptness at attracting bad luck. Everyone who could go seemed to enjoy themselves, at the very least.

     Remus, who had undeniably changed in his months off-grid, refused flat-out to tell anyone what he had experienced. But Gwen accounted for at least six new scars down his neck and face, and there was a new hardness to his eyes, a sort of anger that seemed never to dissipate except for as he was guiding her down the aisle to marry his best friend.

     Peter, of course, was looking worse than ever, and had even begun to lose hair in some places. Gwen had never seen a sadder sight. He even began to lose weight, she noticed: Of course the war was difficult on everyone, but Peter seemed to be taking the brunt of it. Once so playful, by the end of 1979 he only cracked the rare, broken smile at any ill attempts of humour. Everyone had begun to take pity on him, and even the Order was growing cautious around him, in fear that he may break sooner or later; but he grew frantic at the idea of not working and demanded they place him on a mission.

     "Poor thing," hummed Lily, watching Peter from afar at a particularly tense Order meeting in early December. "He and Moody got in this huge argument yesterday, said he hasn't been utilized well. I think he just can't sit still."

"I don't blame him," Mary conceded with a nod. "None of us want to be locked in our houses twiddling our thumbs because Shacklebolt decides we look too sickly to fight."

Gwen twisted her lips to the side and regarded Peter from afar—he sure looked awful, tapping his fingers anxiously against the table, beady eyes darting from person to person as though he may be attacked at any moment.

"He can't make it to the New Year's bash Marlene and I are throwing," Mary said offhandedly. "Says he needs to watch his mum. The rest of you will be there, though, yeah?"

"Is it already December?" Lily sunk into her seat, rubbing her face. "Merlin, this war has been going on for near five years already, then."

The rest of the girls babbled on about how they missed Hogwarts, how old they felt, how time was flying whilst fighting in a war: But at the mention of what month it was Gwen had been hit by an extremely gutting thought, and her eyes traveled to James, entertaining the rest of the young Order members from across the table.

Gwen would have to talk to her husband later, she thought, as a curious idea tickled the back of her mind.

'Later' soon came to pass, and Gwen found herself sitting at the foot of hers and James's bed in their new home.

He had found it, originally: The town was called Everglade, a quaint little Muggle village on the outskirts of London. It wasn't too far from James's parents—in the past few months, they had grown increasingly sick and needed attending to every day, though (and it was a thought that pained Gwen, though she knew it to be true all the same) it was becoming steadily clear that they would not have much time left. James, while respecting the fact that he and his newly-wed wife could not live in the same house as his parents forever, took Gwen to this new house and she fell in love with it instantly. They moved in not two weeks after their wedding, and of course, christened it instantly.

Now, though, after months and months' work of 'breaking in' their new home, Gwen found herself nauseous, and not just at the thought of telling James what she had once been so afraid of.

"...a damn shame about Lily, really," James called from the wash, the faucet running and steam pouring out from the bathroom as he finished up in the shower. He'd just returned from a mission which had taken him all the day long; he hadn't known, in the morning when he left, what the task set out for him would have called for, but that was not out of the ordinary, and Gwen knew he would always tell her what the day consisted of once he returned home at night anyway, so she wasn't worried. Mostly because she knew he would return home.

Lately, he'd only been dealing with guard duty and inspections round the neighbourhood, and Gwen felt perfectly fine sending him off in the morning knowing he wouldn't be too far. She knew, of course, this must be on purpose of the Order: sending the newlywed on any particularly life-threatening tasks would not only be cause of grief from his recently-developed wife, but from his entirely tenacious mother, as well.

As of now, though, Gwen was feeling quite relieved the Order had not had him killed yet.

"...and, anyway, you know, I don't think they'd ever have a better witch for the job," James was saying as he emerged from the bathroom, rubbing at his hair with one towel and straightening another round his waist, sliding his glasses back onto his nose. "Though, of course, that's just me. Maybe Gwendolyn Blythe really is that brilliant of a Healer, I dunno—"

He watched his wife keenly, waiting for a reaction at the mention of her so-called arch-nemesis. When none came, however, he frowned, discarding the towel he used to pat his hair to the laundry and moving to stand before Gwen. His wet hair was dripping into his eyes, but he didn't seem to notice; he was watching Gwen with worry, and took her hands into his own, kneeling before her. His nose twinged with a sniff.

"Gwen," he said, catching her attention, tilting his head to the side as she met his gaze. "What is it, love? Is something the matter?"

"James..." Her lips were dry. Her throat was scratchy. She could not speak. "I..."

"Gwen, come on." Again, his nose twitched, gaze clouding with concern. "You're scaring m—"

"I'm pregnant."

His response was immediate and overwhelmingly positive: His eyes shifted so quickly from worry to disbelief and then landed on sudden, immense joy. His face broke into a smile, glowing and gleeful from his shower, glasses sitting crooked upon his nose—though, of course he did not give a damn, because the witch he loved had just told him she was with child and he had never felt more thrill than he did then.

He picked her up, then, fully—twirled her around, laughing and grinning and nearly crying with her as she burst into tears. At first he did not understand why she was weeping, but then he understood that they were tears of joy, tears of relief, tears of excitement for their future.

Gwen and James Potter were pregnant, and already their child was the most beloved thing to ever exist.

via speaks
i'm sick this is getting sad. filler chapter anyway