She'd read that one, but that wasn't surprising. She'd read all of them. One had a lot of free time on one's hands once the need (and desire) for sleep was eliminated, and reading was one of those pastimes that was easily accomplished during the day or night. She read Shakespeare because it reminded her of him, during the months that she'd been trying to stay away from Hogsmeade, but the canon was limited, and so she'd run out of plays sooner or later. She'd probably read them all again someday, when she was feeling nostalgic and they weren't quite so fresh in her mind, but she was familiar enough with them now.

"Oh, good," she said, smiling despite the fact that tears had appeared from nowhere to well at the corners of her eyes. "A comedy. That's good, don't you think? Someone deserves a happy ending." And they both knew it wouldn't be either of them. Maybe once she left, however, her son could have what she never would: a long, happy, and healthy life. August could give him that.

"Let's name him after one of the lovers," she suggested softly. Honestly, anyone from Midsummer would have been better than, for instance, Coriolanus or MacBeth, but she wasn't as fond of the mischevious fairies or the silly, thick-headed tradesman as she was of the pure and innocent lovers. "The ones who forget all of the bad things that happen in the forest and end up married and happy at the end."