InsaneJournal

Grant wasn't always very good with birthdays. Oh, he could remember them easily enough- that wasn't the issue. It was the social obligation of gift-giving that troubled him, because, try as he might, he couldn't just pick out a meaningless gift. Any sort of gift-giving required at least two weeks' worth of preparation and research- usually more. And with Verity, it was definitely more. He'd been planning her birthday celebrations since they'd gotten engaged- it may not have seemed it, for as simple as the plans ended up being, but the work was all there. Of course, it hadn't helped that, two weeks before, his plans had all rather been thrown for a loop by the announcement that she was expecting twins. (Mercifully, at least, her present had been transfigurable to adjust to the new theme of things.)

They weren't due to move into their new flat for a few weeks yet- paperwork and finances all took time- but Grant had it on good authority that the new flat was already unoccupied. And while he'd toyed with the idea of breaking in- was it really breaking in when your name would be on the papers in a fortnight?- he'd instead gone to the leaseholder and worked out a favor. Leaving work at noon- nearly unheard of, for him- Grant had gone to the new flat and made sure it was cleaned up properly before setting them out a picnic in the would-be living room. (He could have transfigured a table and chairs, but somehow the idea of an indoor picnic on cushy pillows in front of the lit fireplace seemed like a much better idea.) Dinner was made- her favorite meal, of course, he wasn't an idiot- and her presents wrapped, all before Grant re-shouldered his work bag and apparated back to their current flat in Diagon Alley, the same as he did every day after work.

"Ver-?" he called ahead as he unbuttoned his jacket. "You about, love?"


After a fairly non-eventful day in the store - explosions were at a minimum - Verity had come home expecting to have a quiet evening with her feet up. It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open of an evening, the pregnancy sapping her energy.

“Yeah, I’m just coming up,” she called when she heard Grant calling for her. “Am I late, or something?” But no, the time on her watch was no later than any other night. “Oi, I have got to tell you about this one woman who came into the shop tonight, right, she had a neck like a giraffe, but a bum like a hippo , and the effect was so bizarre looking, I had to laugh!”

Then she paused. “Of course, in telling you that I’ve got something I have to tell you, I’ve essentially told you the thing I was telling you that I had to tell you, and with that I will pass the mic over to you, darling dearest. How was your day?”

She spotted Grant, grinned, and walked over to greet him with a kiss.


Her description of the woman in question was odd, certainly, but Grant wasn't generally one to comment on others' appearances- so he just offered a faint smile at the story and returned Verity's kiss, all the same.

"Relatively uneventful," which wasn't entirely true, of course, but it was an answer that suited for the moment. "But this is your day, Verity, don't think I've forgotten that, hm?" Even if the plans he'd sorted out weren't of the grand explosion-filled kind that she might have wanted, Grant was still rather proud of it all. "I have a- a few things in mind. If you're feeling up to it, of course," he added, with caution, just in case.


“Oh, you remembered!” Verity squealed, throwing her arms around Grant in delight. “I knew you would, but you didn’t send anything to the shop, or say anything this morning, so I was thinking maybe you’d forgotten, but you had this planned the whole time, didn’t you? You darling!”

She had been about to kick off her shoes and plop down on the couch, but now she was all but jumping up and down. “What is it? Is it a pony? Don’t keep me in suspense, Grant!”


Of course, he hadn't forgotten- Grant had never forgotten a birthday or anniversary date. "I didn't send anything to the shop, as I've heard that anything there can be somewhat… volatile. I'd hate for a well-thought-out present to be subjected to such… experimentation, before it even reached your waiting hands."

Reaching for Verity's hands, Grant smiled a bit. Her excitement was encouraging, certainly. "It's not a pony," he offered, carefully. "You may need to give me a day or two to arrange that, if that's what you really wanted, for the day."


“Nah, I don’t really want a pony,” Verity said, wrinkling her nose. “Especially if it’s only for a day. And you’re right, anything you sent would have either been blown up by one of the Weasley twins to see if they could put it back together, or else it would have been fodder to mock me for the entirety of the day. So.”

She winced slightly, and pulled Grant’s hand to the more pronounced curve of her stomach, where one of the babies was making his presence known. “Here, feel! One of the boys wants to say hello, Daddy.”


Grant wasn't entirely certain what to expect when Verity pulled his hand in, but he carefully let his touch rest for a moment until-

"Oh!" Eyes wide, Grant had pulled his hand back in surprise- like he'd just touched an unexpectedly hot cauldron- but, now knowing a bit more what to expect, he moved his hand forward once more. It wasn't a kick, the way some of the books said, but there was a… shifting, certainly. Something- someone- was moving, there.

There was a sniff, and Grant hastily wiped a tear from his eye before looking back to Verity- a look full of awe and gratitude and more love than he knew how to express with words. Which, for Grant, was really saying something.

"We should- we should go."


Ah, the big old sap was weeping over his first interaction with his children. Verity grinned to herself, but chose not to point out the tear since he was obviously taking great pains to remain stoic. “That’s just your son saying “Hullo, Daddy!” she said. She, herself, was of two minds about the movement - some of them hurt like billy-o, after all! But mostly, she just delighted in knowing that her children were alive and well and active.

“Go? Where are we going?” she asked, her curiosity piqued. “Is it a surprise, is it something nice? Will I like it?”


Her questions were rapid-fire (not that this was unusual), but Grant answered each one in turn. "Yes, go. To your birthday dinner. It's a surprise, I think it's rather nice, and I certainly hope you like it, otherwise my months' worth of planning is all for naught, and I'd like to avoid that particular resolution of the day's events."

Reaching for her hand, and making sure she was ready to leave, Grant apparated them both away. They arrived in the kitchen of the new flat, which was relatively unremarkable otherwise- unless you noticed the smell of dinner cooking. Once their feet were firmly planted, however, Grant sent a quiet charm over to light the fire in the fireplace and tugged Verity's hand. "This way," he prompted, leading her toward the living room where their picnic was set up and waiting.


Immediately - well, once her stomach settled back into place after the apparition and she’d done a mock check to make sure the babies hadn’t been left behind - Verity smelled her favorite. “Aww, Grant,” she cooed. “You did this for me?”

Pulling him close, she kissed him. It was only supposed to be a short, sweet kiss of gratitude, but it escalated quickly. Verity blamed the babies, really. They were making her hormones get all floopy and all over the show.


"Well there isn't- no one else is here, much less anyone else who might share your birthday, so I fail to see who else I might have done it for?" But then Verity was kissing him, and, well, if there was anything that could actually get Grant to shut up already, it was that.

Well, for a minute, anyway. His words came punctuated with kisses as he caught his breath, next. "There is-" "dinner-" "and presents-" "not much-" "but I think-" "you'll like-" (And so on.)


“Ooh, presents!” Verity reluctantly pried herself off of her husband’s lips and looked around for somewhere to sit. The floor was out - she doubted she’d be able to get up, once she was down - but she didn’t want to make Grant feel silly or bad. She pulled her wand out and worked a little charm on one corner of the blanket, turning it into a firm sort of cushion. This, she eased herself down on to.

“I haven’t had shepherd’s pie in an age,” she hummed happily. In reality it had been maybe two weeks, but that was too long in Verity’s estimation. “Sweet of you to make it for me, baby.”


Of course, of course she couldn't sit on the floor. Verity might not have made a fuss about this oversight, but Grant noticed it, and silently chided himself, all the same. (There were times he thought that, by the time he got used to all the changes that pregnancy had wrought, the twins would be a year old.)

Lost, then, in this silent scolding, Grant nearly missed Verity's response. "Make which? The- oh, yes, well, it seemed the very least I could do, of course, and I didn't want you to go without, not on your birthday of all days." He offered a somewhat weary, though apologetic smile. "Would you like that first, or your present?" Either way, he'd bring it to her- no sense in her walking all about when he'd already mucked up the seating arrangements.


“Both. Both is good,” Verity grinned. “I’ll just sit here and you can wait on me like I’m Lady Muck.” She folded her hands in her lap and did her best impression of a “posh, toffee-nosed upper class woman”, which was patently ridiculous considering her own background, where she’d come from and her life experience. Her approximation of “upper class” was clownish, theatrical, and made her giggle, even before she’d looked to see what Grant’s reaction would be.

“Come on then, Mr. Pleb of the Year, bring unto Verity the things which are Verity’s.”


There were times, of course, that Verity teased him- over the journals or in person- and, sometimes, Grant wasn't always as quick on the uptake with this as he ought to have been. And he really ought to have been, for as long as they'd been together, but there was still- and likely always would be- a very large part of him that was too analytical and logical to really catch on to the sarcastic tone in time with the rest of the conversation.

So if Grant stood there for a moment longer than he should have, blinking as if he'd been caught in the crossfire of something completely beyond him, well... It was probably a look that Verity had seen before. Finally, he just shook his head and retrieved his wand, summoning the presents.

It was only one present in hand, really- a small box with bright blue wrapping and a simple curled white ribbon around it. Inside, a necklace on a fine silver chain. Grant handed the box over, offering a gallant bow- and, finally, a return to her sarcasm. "Your majesty."


Verity didn’t squeal in glee - no, that wouldn’t be becoming for a lady of her assumed status. No, the noise she made was less a squeal and more a stifled squeak, far more dignified. She reached for the present - grabbed Grant by his collar and tugged him in for a kiss - then tore the paper off the box and opened it.

“Oh…” she breathed as she saw what was inside. “Grant, I love it! It’s so perfect… the two little eggs for our two little boys. Oh, you’re the most thoughtful husband ever! I so win at picking husbands!” She set the necklace in its box down beside her and reached for him again, this time to hug him tightly.


Grant returned the hug, smiling (relieved) that Verity liked the gift. Or, at least, that she did so far. "That, at least, is a statement I can quite agree with, Mrs Page."

Pulling back from the hug, Grant knelt on the floor in front of Verity's makeshift seat, and retrieved his wand from his pocket. "There's more," he added, with a charm that lifted the necklace and long chain from its box and draped it easily around Verity's neck. "Hold the nest," Grant prompted. Once Verity did, she would be able to feel- and hear- the babies' heartbeats. A clever charm, that- one he'd found in a book, and was rather proud to have duplicated.


Verity gasped as, when she did as she was told, the heartbeats filled her ears. For a moment, she was speechless, which for her - for either of them - was pretty noteworthy. “Is that really them? That’s their heartbeats?” Because it sounded just like the low thrub-dub that she’d heard when she went to the muggle OB-GYN.

“You’re so clever,” she marveled, clutching the necklace tightly. She doubted she’d take the thing off for a long, long time.


"I have my moments, yes, that much I will agree with." Leaning up, Grant kissed her again, just gently. "Happy birthday, Verity."