Waker rounded the swing as if she were circling a bear trap, her face a judicious frown. Her brown eyes were mistrustful as ever as they zeroed in on the place where the seat met the ropes. Unlike the uninviting but sturdy metals of a muggle playground, the little Hogsmeade park relied upon magic and a certain, flimsy aesthetic that matched the cobbles and window boxes of the little village. Knots were twined through faded plank to serve the older children, bare bones and dangerous. Seats had been carved and smoothed for babies to be pushed against gravity. Waker had misgivings about both.

But the slide already had a queue of bullies in the making, and George had somehow managed to convince her of the swings.

Still...

“I don’t know. What about the roundabout? She can sit in the middle and you can go slow.” Because Waker herself couldn’t imagine jogging in circles, pushing the merry-go-round while her belly churned in protest. She was far too paranoid— and smart. The morning sickness this time had be twice as lovely. “Or those little unicorns that go back and forth,” she suggested, thinking of the springy rocking horses that were rooted firmly to the ground. They didn’t have seat belts, but they weren’t likely to send her child flying across the lawn, either. Amelia wiggled impatiently at her hip and began to lean in toward the swing— or away from Waker’s suggestion. It was as if she knew.

He’d already gotten it in his head that Amelia was going to love the swings. He’d done it as a child, as had many other children before and after him. “She can do the roundabout after. Come now, Waker, you’re a witch!” He grinned and glanced back over his shoulder at her, letting his grin fall a little as he tried to look a little apologetic.

George was not above using logic in his manipulation. Plus, once she saw Amelia on the swing and how excited she was, she’d relax. If she knew how often he took Amelia to the swings...

His eyes did glance over the unicorns, mistrust in his brief frown. He mumbled something under his breath, not appropriate for children’s ears, before shaking his head. “She’ll love the swing.” George held on to the rope and leaned over the swing to try and elicit a kiss from his wife. The traitor in her arms was already giving away too much!

“My mum used to bring us here when she had to do shopping in Hogsmeade. It’s a right of passage, love.” Puppy dog eyes came out for a moment before he grinned. “Come on, I can even push you on the swing next to her.” Eyebrows jumped in playful flirting.

Waker shot him a look, her mouth a pouty frown. Of course he’d bring up her capability with a wand. Maybe she should have pointed out that it was his that had got her into this state— worrying about their child and all of the death traps of a quaint village playground.

“Of course she will. She’s yours.” It was amazing, how often she’d used that phrase in one year. It was becoming more and more apparent the more Amelia grew. Her personality was all George. And where George saw an adventure, some new hurtle for Amelia to overcome on her way to little league quidditch, Waker saw bruised knees, stitches, and that giant head toppling itself.

Said giant head was leaning dangerously toward the seat now, and little hands had managed to fasten themselves to the ropes even more tightly than they routinely grabbed at Waker’s hair. And as Waker leaned in to accommodate her pint-sized acrobat, she frowned at the pretty trap of George’s mouth. His timing was always brilliant. “That’s what I’m worried about,” she murmured in the tiny space between them, bumping her forehead to his and leveling her keen gaze his way. She sighed into the kiss, but it was more of a thaw. That familiar little dance of her nerves— the exciting sort— was there. Even Waker had wonderful memories of swings and being too young to worry about broken legs.

Was it too much to ask for a little rubber flooring?

“Next thing, she’ll learn the word ‘swing,’ and we won’t hear the end of it because Daddy taught her how to fly without a broom.” Even as she spoke, she adjusted her hold on Amelia, who was wiggling rather adeptly up the rope.

Waker’s mouth opened and closed again as she brought the baby back onto her hip. She felt too silly voicing her concerns about getting in the swing herself. “George, I’m not sure…” She hadn’t read anything overly specific about it in the baby books, and thus had no excuse. She held out Amelia as a peace offering. “I’ve only just got over the nausea every time I smell of garlic. Again…” Half a week after Amelia had turned one. They hadn’t wasted any time, had they, putting their marriage bed to good use?

If it were just she and George, she might be persuaded to take a seat (tangled safely about him). She’d even be his partner in crime on the seesaw, since they both knew she could bounce up and down, but they had a baby to think about, and a couple halves, too. “You surviving this place is not a winning endorsement,” she added, looking around and then back at him. There was a hint of a smile, something a little guilty. George had the luck of a cat where accidents were concerned. “Why don’t I stand in front of her so you can’t push her into orbit?”

George felt like he won a small battled with the kiss. It meant she wasn’t as against it as she might lead on. Even then, he knew ways to encourage her giving in. He’d been doing it since they first met. She had a lot of things to worry about if she was worried Amelia would love the swing. There were far worse things on the playground alone that she would have to worry about.

“Maybe we should just install a swing in the apartment?” Eyebrows danced before he grinned, knowingly, giving her another brief kiss. “Wait until I teach her how to swim. Her mum knows how good of a teacher I am.” Hidden meanings between words, his attempt to remind her of fun, carefree memories.

It was easy for George to forget about all the nuances of being pregnant. He didn’t have to deal with the world spinning and breakfast coming up every time he tried to add garlic to anything. He did have to help with clean up, but that was a different discussion. It had been a long month of no spaghetti or garlic bread. They hadn’t been the best couple to model for how to have children, sure, but they were where they were. Even if his paychecks weren’t as cushy as another team’s might be… they helped pay the bills with a little extra for savings.

Maybe by the time this pregnancy was over, they could consider a small home in the country. He could only widen the closet so much before the apartment stability threatened to cave in on itself. Not that George would mention that minor thing to Waker. She had too much to worry about.

He grinned and nodded. “Phillip did too, though.” His finger waggled as if to say ‘I got you there.’ Accepting the wiggly one-year-old from his wife, George helped put her into the safety seat for smaller children. “Just wait until she learns how to jump off.”

“Maybe we should just install a swing in the apartment?”

In the apartment? You know we don’t own it, right?” She countered, having wondered just that about six times a week. They were lucky their muggle landlords knew nothing of their little tricks… least of all the closet turned nursery, complete with a window. Waker shuddered to think what a hassle it would be when they finally moved out.

But then… Her hand moved over her stomach. It wasn’t as if they George could start converting (baby-proofed) cabinets into second and third children’s bedrooms. They would have to face that fact soon.

Why had she been so eager to be an adult, again?

“I actually do want her to learn how to swim.” Waker sounded more upbeat now, as if Amelia fending off sharks were an easier thought than the pair of them and their toddler moving into a proper house. “But we should probably find someone registered to teach babies. There’s a community pool down the road from the flat, actually. Indoor, heated, lifeguards…” That last one, especially. “You can swim alongside them!” She added, pecking him beneath his eye, lest he think she doubted his swimming abilities or his teaching. She just didn’t want a repeat of George’s many lake fiascos with Amelia. A grin began to sneak up on her face. “A bit of adult supervision never hurt anyone."

She wisely refused to comment on his teaching prowess out loud.

If they were both secretly worrying about the space in their small flat, or how they would achieve everything before the newest members of their families came flying into the world, Waker focused on Amelia's first swing— or what she thought was the first swing. “I guess if Phillip didn’t fall on his head…” Implying George just might have. She shot him a look, but then her face softened again. She braced herself, reaching out a hand to the chain. Solid. She retracted it, but not so far that it didn’t linger over the baby. “No jumping. She can’t even walk yet! It must be illegal to let her break her legs before that.” Again, the Ministry loomed heavy in her mind. Should I be putting this in the baby book?” It was so crammed by now that it looked more like a children’s pop-up gone terribly wrong.