Author's Note: Well, here it is, the last chapter. I've made you wait all these weeks to find out about the baby, so I won't say much here other than to thank all of you who have been reading.

Disclaimer: The characters (most of them) and world belong to JK Rowling.

5 hours old

My eyes fluttered open to the dim light of my room. I was pretty sure it was late morning, but the curtains had been drawn to allow me to rest. Oliver was there beside me, propped against the pillows, a little bundle in his arms. I reached out and placed my hand on his thigh.

He looked down at me and smiled. "'Morning, lass," he said softly.

"Is she real?" I asked.

"She is. She is perfect."

I sat up and gingerly scooted closer to Oliver. Leaning my head against his shoulder, I peered down at our daughter in his strong arms. Somebody had put a color change charm on the blue receiving blanket, turning it into the softest pink. Curled around the edge of it, just under her pink chin, were five tiny fingers. I gently stroked them, marveling at the tiny fingernails. My daughter's tiny fingernails. Oliver and I had a daughter. I smiled.

"I forgot how small they are," Oliver said. He leaned his head atop mine.

"I know. I thought the same thing every time I folded the tiny pajamas and rompers. Oh, Merlin, we don't have any girl things. We're going to need frocks!"

Astonished at the idea, I giggled. I would be buying frocks for my little girl.

"I don't think you need to worry," Oliver said with a grin. "Mum and Catriona are over the moon about having a wee lassie to spoil. They are already planning a trip to Diagon Alley. I think we'll have a house full of pink frocks by the end of the day."

"I bet Angelina sends us a Harpies kit."

Oliver snorted but said nothing. He'd sent Angelina and George a Puddlemere jumper when little Freddie was born. It was a case of tit for tat.

"My dad came up to meet her," Oliver whispered. He stroked our daughter's cheek. "He cried."

Oliver was quiet. The only time he'd seen his dad cry was when his brothers died.

"They were happy tears?" I asked.

"Aye," Oliver said, his voice shaky. "I didn't think I would get her back from him. I-I don't think he ever expected to see a wee lassie born to the Wood family in his lifetime. He kept kissing her and my mum and saying what a miracle she was. He was laughing and crying and if I didn't know better I'd say he'd already imbibed a fifth of Firewhisky."

Joy bubbled up inside of me; Oliver and I had created something extraordinary. When Bobby was born, the war had been over for less than a year. We'd still been mourning loved ones, trying to put our lives back together, and into the midst of all that had come this new little life. The first time I had held Bobby had been the first time I realized that the future held infinite possibilities. Hardly two years after Bobby was born, Rory had burst into our lives bringing with him boundless amounts energy and joy. We had called him Rory for a reason for he had truly come into the world with a roar. And now this one… It was silly to say she was special simply because she was a girl, yet it was true. It was as if she were the miracle we never knew we needed.

I looked up at Oliver. "Do the lads know?"

"Oh, aye. Catriona said they finally passed out in her sitting room around midnight, entirely too excited to meet…well, their new brother. But I went around about an hour ago to tell them they had a sister instead."

"How did they take it?"

"They didn't believe me at first." Oliver chuckled. "I eventually convinced them. Campbell and Rory are excited, but Bobby is suspicious of the whole thing."

I snorted. "He would be. I blame you."

"Me?"

"You're the one who told him he had to marry Molly when he grew up; he hasn't liked girls since."

"He'll grow out of it, or not," Oliver said with a shrug. "Regardless, they are eager to meet their baby sister. But maybe our little lassie should have a name first?"

"I suppose Euan won't do, will it?" I stared at her for a moment. "Before Bobby was born I thought I might like Gemma or Bonnie. How about Margaret for my mother?"

"Bell," Oliver said. "Her name should be Bell."

The words were said quietly. Oliver was gazing down at our daughter, but when he felt me staring at him, his dark eyes met mine. There was such earnestness in the way he looked at me, such love and gratitude. I never questioned how much Oliver loved me—because I loved him in equal measure—but it was moments like this that it felt almost like a physical thing. A flame that Oliver lit in my heart that kept me warm. I wondered… I hoped that I made him feel the same because I was so utterly grateful that he had given me this family and this little girl. I was thankful that he loved me enough to want our daughter to have my name. My heart ached with how in love I felt when I saw her cradled protectively against his broad chest.

"Belle," I whispered around the lump in my throat. "With an 'e' on the end." I tucked my head against his shoulder again. "Hello, Belle, you have a name now."

Belle's eyes opened—wide and cloudy blue, fringed in long, black lashes. It would be a while yet before we knew what color they would be, but I hoped she would have Oliver's brown eyes. A blonde fuzz covered her pink scalp. Her cheeks were rosy and round, her mouth a perfect bow. She was so pretty.

After a moment of contentedly staring at her parents, Belle began to wiggle in her blanket. She turned her head towards Oliver, rooting at his chest.

Oliver held the baby up so he could kiss her cheek. "I don't think I have what you are looking for, lassie."

Repositioning my pillows, I burrowed back and Oliver laid Belle in my arms. She squawked at me.

"Oh, you," I cooed. "You're a very impatient girl."

I unwrapped her blanket. Her little limbs were moving frantically, not quite sure what to do with themselves. One small fist landed against her mouth, and she tried to suck it, only to let out another indignant squawk when it didn't provide the sustenance she was searching for. Finally, I had my nightgown rearranged and I put her to my breast. In her excitement, her eyes lost focus, and she opened her mouth, but she jerked her head wildly, missing her destination. I tightened my arm around her, cupped my breast in the other hand and guided my nipple into her mouth. I winced as she latched on, but Belle's body went instantly lax against mine as she rested one fist against my chest. Big, blue eyes gazed up at me, the eyelids dropping lower and lower to cover them. Her mouth suckled at my nipple, then I heard the soft sigh of her swallowing.

"She looks like you," Oliver said. He curled around us, one big hand covering mine on Belle's back.

I nestled into him. "I think," I started, "that all of this peace and quiet is getting to me. I miss our boys."

Oliver arched one eyebrow incredulously. "Are you sure?"

"Belle wants to meet her brothers, Daddy."

"I think she is rather blissfully unaware of them at the moment."

I gave Oliver a look from under my eyelashes.

"Okay, okay," he said. "I'll fetch the lads." He kissed me, then placed a soft kiss on Belle's head. "Prepare for noise, lassie."

By the time Belle slipped off my breast, she was fast asleep again. Not even changing her nappie could wake her from her milk-induced slumber. I swaddled her in the pink blanket again so that we were perfectly presentable when the lads came. Just in time, too, as I heard the noisy chatter of boys outside my bedroom door.

"Lads," Oliver said plainly from the other side of the door. "Quiet down, will ya? Lads, shh. LADS!"

I grinned at the sound of my husband bellowing to be heard over the din.

"Thank you," he said when he was finally met with silence. "Your mum and baby sister need their rest. You are to be gentle. You are to speak softly. No roughhousing. Am I understood?"

"Aye, sir," chorused three little voices.

The door opened to admit three boys with their heads down. Campbell's ginger head was in the lead as usual, Rory's hand clutched in his. Bobby was on their heels, never fitting into the middle brother role with ease. Oliver brought up the rear, sending me a secret smile over the heads of the boys. The moment the door closed again, Rory broke away and climbed onto the bed next to me.

"Daddy says our brother is a girl," he declared, peering at the baby in my arms.

Now that Rory had rushed ahead, the older boys followed. Bobby climbed up on the other side of the bed, but kept his distance, sneaking glances at Belle as if being a girl might be catching. Campbell crowded in behind Rory, a wide smile on his face.

"I believe," Oliver said, leaning against the bed post with his arms folded over his chest, "what I said is that you have a sister instead of a brother."

"Aye," Rory said. "We got a girl. Do you think she'll still want to play with me?"

"Of course," I replied.

"And will she like broomsticks?"

"Well, she's a Wood, isn't she?"

Rory looked up at Oliver. "Is she?"

"Absolutely," Oliver assured him with a nod.

"Oh, well, I guess so." Rory paused. "She can have my toy broom, I too big for it anyways."

I laughed. "Nice try, Ror, but you are not getting a big broom yet."

"Not before me!" Bobby said.

Campbell looked at me shyly. "What's her name?"

I laid the baby on my lap so they could see her better. "This, gentlemen, is your sister, Belle."

Rory immediately tried to poke her in the eyes with his finger, but I was prepared for that and batted his hand away. Honestly, why was a small child's first instinct upon meeting a baby to blind them? Campbell did it with success to Bobby and Bobby did it to Rory. It was amazing that any of them could see.

Rolling his eyes at Rory, Oliver came around and scooped up Belle. She didn't even stir as he supported her head in one large, callused hand and her bottom in the other. He smiled down at her.

"Belle is your baby sister, lads," he said. "We haven't had a lassie born into the family for as long as anyone can remember, so she is very special." He walked around the foot of the bed. "She'll be as strong as her mum and as pretty. She'll fly as well as any of you. And she'll be clever, too." He stood on the other side of the bed now. "But she'll still need her big brothers to look out for her."

Bobby was sitting cross-legged on the bed. He looked up at his father who was looming over him now. Oliver sat on the edge of the bed, staring straight at Bobby. I watched as my husband placed Belle into her brother's arms. Bobby cradled her awkwardly, looking into her face for the first time.

Keeping one hand on the baby, Oliver said, "She'll need someone to make sure she always knows she's protected and loved."

"She needs me to protect her?" Bobby mumbled, his arms tightening around his sister.

"I imagine she'll cause enough trouble to need all of her big brothers' protection. Do you think you're up for the job?"

"I am!" Rory announced, crawling over me to get closer to the baby.

"How about you, Campbell?" Oliver asked.

"She's my little sister," Campbell responded, craning his neck to see Belle better.

Oliver looked at Bobby.

"Her name is Belle?" the little boy asked. "Like Gram and Gramp Bell?"

"Aye," Oliver responded.

Bobby's mouth thinned as he stared at his sister. I knew that look; it meant that he was deep in thought. "What will I have to do?"

"Well," Oliver said. "It's a big job, lad. She'll need a shoulder to cry on when she's sad."

Bobby wrinkled his nose.

"I can do it!" Rory volunteered, bouncing up and down on his knees.

"She'll need someone to tell her it will be better in the morning," Oliver continued. "And somebody to keep an eye on her when she flies too high, to practice throwing a Quaffle with, and probably have tea parties with."

Bobby sighed. "Tea parties?"

"Aye, tea parties. And she'll need somebody to teach her to throw a punch for when the boys start coming around trying to kiss her."

"Oliver," I warned.

"Hush, lass," he said with a big grin. "This is man stuff."

I huffed, crossing my arms.

"So," Oliver said, one hand on Bobby's shoulder. "You think you're up to it, Bob?"

"To love and protect," Bobby said. "It's a big job, Dad, but I can do it."

Oliver and I locked eyes over the heads of our boys. This man, he was going to be a menace as the father of a daughter, but he knew just exactly what to do with our boys. I smiled. The first time I met Oliver was on a Quidditch Pitch. I was 11 and he was 14. I couldn't have possibly known then how that moment would change my life, but as I sat in the snug warmth of my bedroom surrounded by my husband and our children, I was ever so grateful it did.

Early spring sunlight streamed through the windows in pale gold beams that promised warmer days to come. After taking turns holding their sleeping sister, the lads scampered off to play before the fire, their boyish giggles a harmony in the background. Belle lay in Oliver's embrace as he admired our sweet girl. When he looked up, he wore a sheepish smile.

"I think you'll be doing that a lot," I said.

"Can you blame me? She's beautiful," Oliver replied and placed the baby in my arms. "You did well, lass."

"We did well, Wood," I replied.

"And to think, it all started with Quidditch."

I snuggled into Oliver's side, and leaned my head against his broad shoulder. "It always does."

A/N 2: Thank you again for reading. I hope all of you who are celebrating Thanksgiving will have a great one. Please leave a review; I love to hear from you!

A/N 3: Oh! And look for a one shot posted in Outtakes later today. It's a missing scene from this chapter.