Fest Fic: Changing the Definition
Mar. 30th, 2018 09:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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hp_bunintheovenTitle: Changing the Definition
Author/Artist:sw33tch3rrypi3
Pairing(s): Harry/Ron (Also mentions of Harry/Ginny and maybe the tiniest hint of unrequited Draco/Ron)
Prompt: #S10
Summary: “It was curiosity that killed the cat in the end, at least that's what Ron kept telling himself. He wasn't jealous of Harry's relationship with his sister, he wasn't. Just...curious. Yeah, that was it. Ginny was flaunting it and he wanted to know good it really was. All it took was one hair, a Potion he knew all too well, and there he was, being a she in Harry's arms... only it all went to pot from there.”
Word Count: 8300
Rating: PG/T
Warnings/Contains: Hints of questionable consent (as Harry doesn’t actually know who he’s sleeping with); Mpreg, obviously
Notes: Thank you to the amazing Flynn and everyone else involved with this fest! Much gratitude, as always, to my beta, J. My_thestral, I hope you enjoy my humble offering. This is not a pairing I’ve written before, and I was intrigued by both the challenge and your brilliant prompt. xx
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
O0O
“—And he does this thing with his tongue that’s just…” Ginny trailed off with a sigh, occupying her mouth with another bite of perfectly pan-fried filet rather than bragging.
“Thank you for that, er, colorful description, Ginny,” Hermione said awkwardly, shooting Ron a look that was clearly begging for assistance. Forget it. She was the one who had invited his sister to tag along to their weekly dinner, and she could handle Gin’s inappropriate dinner conversation all by herself. Ron was busy…not brooding or glaring. He was…doing something. But not brooding. Or glaring. He took another sip of his butterbeer and continued not-glaring across the table.
“I’m just saying, Hermione, that you should be proper jealous of me, especially now that you’re not getting any regularly,” Ginny grinned. Into the uncomfortable silence that followed, she raised a brow and added, “Unless you two are still…?”
“No!” Ron nearly shouted at the same time Hermione shook her head vehemently. Almost a year ago they had announced their split, telling their friends that they just didn’t have enough chemistry. Only the two of them knew the truth, and Hermione had been great about keeping his secret and remaining his friend. He wasn’t ready to tell anyone else, and especially not Ginny.
His sister eyed them suspiciously before seeming to shrug off the idea. She shoved her empty plate away and returned to her former topic. “Really Hermione,” she said as Ron likewise returned to not-brooding, “you should at least find a decent fuck buddy. Someone with good stamina, like Harry.”
Ron choked on his sip of butterbeer as Hermione murmured something noncommittal, but both were drowned out by the screech of Ginny’s chair as she rose from the table to make her goodbyes. She had an away game the next day and needed to head home to pack her things and portkey to South America. As she Flooed away, Ron thought uncharitably that it was fortunate she had found time to mooch a free meal, and then mentally cringed at his unkind thoughts toward his baby sister.
“Don’t even say it,” Hermione warned, beginning to clear the table. Ron joined her, stacking their dirty plates, and didn’t say anything, though he cut his eyes at her and she caught the look. After fifteen years of friendship, it was an entire conversation.
“I know,” she groaned gustily, “I know. My word, Ginny--”
“Has no filter,” Ron supplied, placing the dirty dishes he’d carried across the room into the sink. “She never has, if you’ll remember.” He started the dishes washing themselves with a flick of his wand, avoiding looking again at Hermione and what was certain to be her disapproving expression.
From behind him, she snorted softly. “Then I’d think you’d be used to it by now, but you looked ready to strangle her.”
Ron retrieved his half-empty bottle from the table and took a gulp to wash down the lump in his throat. Somehow his mouth was still dry after he swallowed. He managed a weak, humorless chuckle. “I know you don’t have siblings, ‘Mione, but trust me when I say that brothers do not want to hear detailed accounts of their sister’s sex capers. I mean, it’s gross.”
Hermione moved to stand next to him where he’d draped his body half over her kitchen island. She propped her hips against the granite edge and reached out to tug the bottle from his hands, stealing a sip before passing it back. Several moments of silence passed while he studied the charcoal-coloured veins in the stone and she studied him before she ventured, “And that’s all?”
Ron drew a deep breath and rolled the bottle back and forth between his palms before nodding sharply, once. “And that’s all.” He tilted his head back and drained the last of his butterbeer.
O0O
Ron and Harry had gone into Auror training after Hogwarts, exactly as they had planned since fourth year. As fourteen-year-olds they had laid awake in their beds at night, so close together it was like being on the same mattress, having whispered conversations about what the future would hold. In Ron’s vision, they would be the best Aurors that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had ever seen, closing the toughest cases and getting their pictures in the newspapers every week. And they would be a team, of course. Best friends and partners.
Training had been everything they had expected, and more. Everything else had…not, really. There was a great deal more time spent filling out boring forms and quadruplicate subforms that had to be filed using confusing alphanumeric codes which Ron often forgot (or, to be frank, just didn’t care enough about to remember) than time spent posing for dashing-looking pictures after Incarcerousing evil-doers. Ron had personally imagined himself giving grand, inspiring speeches to new recruits, not being regularly tongue-lashed by the administrative assistants who couldn’t find the aforementioned poorly-filed paperwork. The most significant departure from their daydreams, however, was that Ron and Harry were not partners.
Oh, they had been paired up immediately after becoming full Aurors. It didn’t take long for Kingsley to realize, however, that it was a mistake. Just like in school, they were bad at finding flaws in their own strategies and both he and Harry made reckless choices when the other was in danger. During boring meetings, they passed notes and had silent, immature conversations with their eyes that sometimes made one or both of them laugh aloud at the most inopportune moments. Even when Kinglsey moved them around like firsties so that Harry was sitting several seats up on the same side of the table, Ron found that he couldn’t pull his eyes away from his best mate.
After six months, Kingsley had announced that they were too close to make an effective Auror team and had split them up. They had been paired with two new graduates who had also hoped to be teamed but had similar issues. The closest Ron had ever come to quitting the Aurors was when he was partnered with Draco Malfoy, and they had both been nearly kicked out multiple times during the adjustment period. Even Harry and Blaise Zabini had raised wands a time or two. That had been six years ago, and as Ron tilted his chair back and propped his booted feet up on the corner of his desk while surveying their tiny office, it was almost comical to recall, now.
“Whose bloody turn was it to clean the coffee machine?” Malfoy groused, wrinkling his nose as he opened the filter compartment. “Oh, that’s fucking disgusting.”
“Not mine,” Harry and Blaise said nearly simultaneously, neither bothering to look up from their writing tasks. Draco crossed his arms and stared down his partner. Ron shrugged and plucked another chocolate digestive from the plastic sleeve in his hands that he was quickly emptying. He shoved it into his mouth and then gestured, indicating his apparent inability to speak while chewing, despite it rarely stopping him under ordinary circumstances. Draco’s lips twitched.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, pulling out his wand to cast the necessary cleaning spells.
Blaise finally paused in his work, tossing down his quill and stretching his long arms over his head until his spine popped. “I fancy going out tonight. You all up for drinks after work?”
Malfoy turned his head from where he was sliding the coffee pot into place as the machine began to brew. “I’m in. I’ll owl Pansy and ask her to sit with Mother.” He tilted his chin to gesture across the room, his hands busy opening sugar packets into a cup. “Potter?”
Harry dropped his own quill and rolled his broad shoulders. Ron looked down and brushed crumbs from the front of his uniform, ignoring the way his heart sped up. It was—it was just a stupid thing. It would pass. It would. He refused to give it more attention than it deserved.
“Sounds good,” Harry said, “as long as it’s fine with Gin. I’ll Floo her before we leave.”
Blaise coughed over something that sounded like “whipped,” then said, “Weasley? Time for you to get back in the game. Plenty of lovely ladies at the Slate and Hare last time I was in.”
Ron looked up, feeling himself flush. Draco raised a brow, but cut across quickly, “Which knowing you, Zabini, was last night.”
“Hey!” Blaise protested, picking up the bait. “I’ll have you know that I was seeing that blonde from the O’Reilly case for three whole weeks!”
Harry laughed. “Oh, a record! Because before that it was the Swiss model for, what, two nights?”
“And Veronica Tarlington from Games and Sports for maybe a week before that,” Draco added.
“Eight days,” Blaise huffed.
“Oh yes, that’s very different,” Harry grinned, his teeth flashing very white in the fine, dark facial hair he now wore before he looked back at Ron. The redhead had braced himself, but it was still like a minor electric shock racing through him from temple to toes. “Mate? You’re coming, yes?”
Ron forced himself to hold the warm look for several seconds before looking away and clearing his throat. “’Course.” He shoved another biscuit in his mouth.
O0O
The Slate and Hare was just a few blocks from the Ministry, and so they walked together after clocking out and changing clothes, bundling up in heavier robes and gloves to guard against the chill and damp of a London spring evening. On the way out of the lobby they picked up Finnegan and his Auror partner Padma Patil, and then on the pavement they ran into Alex Harper and his girlfriend, who had just finished work at Gringotts and opted to join them. That prompted Draco to send a Patronus to Theo, who worked in the archives with Granger, and the two of them met them at the pub doors. By the time they entered the building, they were a madcap group in high spirits.
“Well, he’s certainly happy to see us,” Harry nodded at the dour-faced barman while shrugging off his outer robes and tugging off his gloves. “Think he blames me for bringing this lot into his pub, since I was in the lead,” he laughed.
“Can’t help it, can you?” Ron shoved up the sleeves of his dark blue jumper and ran his fingers through his fiery hair to settle it down after pulling off his orange wool cap. He poked Harry gently in the ribs with his elbow. “Pied Piper, innit? Always have been.” He grinned when his friend rolled his eyes, but then his heart fluttered when Harry laid a warm hand on his shoulder. He gently squeezed, and Ron felt his smile tremble as his breath caught. He watched as Harry’s brow furrowed slightly before his eyes widened, and Ron jerked away.
“Gerroff,” he laughed heartily, overly loud even in the din of their friends. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his tan corduroy trousers and queued up for his pint. A second later he felt the warmth of Harry’s slightly shorter but bulkier frame as he came up behind him and cuffed the back of his neck before throwing an arm around his shoulders. Ron kept his gaze averted.
“How about a drink for my first mouse, eh?” Harry’s voice sounded slightly scratchy but just as affectionate as ever, and Ron couldn’t help but meet his eyes and return his smile.
Once everyone in the group had their drinks and assorted snacks, Theo and Blaise pushed two tables together and stole some chairs from others to give them enough room for everyone to sit. Ron found himself beside Harry and across from Draco, who promptly began taking the mickey over Harry’s Floo call to Ginny before they had left work.
“She isn’t even in the country, Potter!”
Harry swallowed the foam he’d sucked off the head of his pint, rolling his eyes. “It’s called respect, Malfoy. Just because we’re not in the same place doesn’t mean that we stop affording each other the same level of care as when we’re together.”
Ron shifted his damp glass around on the tabletop as several of their group catcalled and made kissy sounds, watching the careful pattern he created in the pooling condensation. His stomach roiled, and he told himself that he was hungry. He’d only had breakfast and one lunch and the biscuits, and he really should have ordered some food at the bar. He blinked away a slight burning from his eyes. He was tired and feeling drained. And happy. Happy for his sister to have such a good partner.
“Anyway,” he tuned back into the clamor just to hear Harry say, “Ginny will be out of town with the Harpies for four days this week, so I was thinking of getting together a poker night.”
“Did she give you her express permission to have friends over, Potter?” Blaise chortled. Harry threw his napkin at him, and he batted it away and added, “Why haven’t you two walked down the aisle yet? Might as well, she already has your balls in her fist!”
Ron looked at Harry, curious about that, himself. His friend looked up and caught his eye, then flushed and looked away. Ron blinked. Why was Harry embarrassed? Did he think Ron faulted him for not proposing yet? It wasn’t really his business, was it? And he loved Ginny, but even he would admit she was a lot to take on for life.
“Stop trying to distract us from the fact that you owe everyone a round from last week, Zabini,” Draco said suddenly, “and pay up.”
Ron felt unusually grateful for his partner and chugged the rest of his pint to make room for the next as Blaise grumbled and unstraddled his seat to head to the bar. Oddly, when they’d left the Ministry, he hadn’t felt much like a night out, but suddenly, drinking seemed like the best idea ever.
O0O
Nearly three hours later, Ron was alone in the quiet of the pub as the barman called for last orders. Everything was a warm, muzzy sort of lavender shade. He’d lost track of the number of pints he had imbibed, and there had been several rounds of shots in between. Most of their group had departed after about an hour, leaving Harry, Ron, Draco, and Blaise. Draco had stuck around another hour and then left to relieve Pansy and put his mother to bed. Blaise had pulled shortly after that and had left the pub with a curvy little blonde on his arm. Suddenly it had just been Harry and Ron, and a thick, nearly palpable discomfort. After several minutes of silence, Harry had mumbled something about going home and Floo calling Ginny to say goodnight, and then Ron had been the cheese—standing alone. Or sitting, rather.
Now he stood, and tugged on his outerwear with sluggish, rather clumsy movements. He nodded at the barman as he passed. The man looked slightly less grouchy but a bit concerned, and Ron waved him off as he stumbled through the door and out onto the road. He didn’t feel like going home. He felt restless and unsettled. The day’s events kept swirling around in his head; also, Ginny’s dinner conversation from the night before. With the absence of the inhibitions that generally bolstered his walls of denial, he found himself being somewhat more honest with himself. He was curious, of course he was. Harry was a very attractive man, and Ron was—well, Ron was gay. Of course he couldn’t help but wonder what Harry was like in bed. But his honesty stopped short of anything more than that. He was just curious.
Ron looked up and noticed that he was coming to the corner of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. While the latter was no longer a popular gathering area for Death Eaters, and was measurably less foul, it was still well-known as the place to find difficult-to-obtain items. He swaggered to a stop just in front of one of the new corner shops, surprised to see the welcoming lights still blazing. It was called Danforth Designs, but everyone knew that it rode the line. Aside from home décor items, there were a number of rarer potions and enchanted objects available for purchase. Ron peered blearily at the window display, showing a delicately-turned whitewashed writing desk with an arrangement of charming items resting on its surface. Suddenly, he stood a bit straighter and blinked. Between the fancy-edged parchment and the skull-shaped crystal paperweight was a small, corked, glass bottle containing a purple-blue shimmering potion. As he watched, the potion seemed to move, as though the lights inside the liquid themselves were alive. He knew that potion, and well.
Without realizing that a plan had already half-formed in his mind, he entered the shop and walked straight toward the front window, fuzzily wondering how to reach that bottle from the backside. Like a phantom, a man appeared before him with an overly-saccharine smile beneath his whisper-thin, dramatically curling mustache. “Ah, I see that something in our little display has caught your discerning eye,” he purred in a vaguely Parisian accent. Ron looked between the man and the slightly elevated window, frowning. Did one simply ask for such an item? Polyjuice potion was supposed to be highly-regulated, each vial registered and given a unique number so that it could be tracked. He suspected that the vial in the window had been mysteriously “lost” by someone else.
“Perhaps,” the salesman continued, seeming to sense Ron’s disquiet, “it was this?” From the pocket of his black apron he pulled a second, matching vial. “Only two in our entire inventory. This is the special, new-and-improved Polyjuice Potion. It lasts ten hours and provides a more realistic experience for the user. And, of course, that pesky voice issue has been resolved.”
Ron’s eyes were fixed on the little bottle. His brain, which had previous felt like it was attempting to function through a vat of treacle, was suddenly racing along. Why not? He could do it. Just once. He could satisfy his curiosity and get a good joke over on Harry and Ginny in one fell swoop. Sure, his conscience laughed, a joke. Ignoring it, he asked hoarsely, “How much?”
O0O
Roll rolled over and groaned, tugging the spare pillow over his head as the songbird outside his bedroom window loudly tittered its excitement over the early April sunshine. His head throbbed, and his mouth felt like he’d licked a sweaty, fuzzy quidditch sock, but neither issue was pressing enough to pull him from the comfort of his bed. It was likely that his bladder would force him out before another hour had passed, but for now he planned to ignore everything and go back to sleep for at least a bit longer.
That plan was scuppered by pounding footsteps on the stairs just before Harry burst into his room, ruddy and windblown and grinning and looking far too attractive for Ron’s weakened state of resistance. The redhead rolled over, took one look, groaned again, and covered his face with the pillow. Harry laughed.
“None of that.” He tugged the pillow away and tossed it onto the floor, then waited until Ron had gingerly pulled himself into a seated position and arranged the dark grey sheet strategically over his lap before he passed over a brown paper bag and a paper cup filled with coffee. “Foolproof hangover cure.” He settled down on the corner of the mattress.
Ron opened the bag and removed a handful of chips, ignoring the protestations of his stomach as he crammed them into his gob. No matter how nauseous he might feel, he hadn’t sicked up since the slugs in second year, and he knew that Harry spoke the truth. Greasy chips and caffeine would have him feeling back to himself in no time. “Thanks,” he grunted through his mouthful.
“Sure.” Harry winked and suddenly that damned tension was back. This time, though, instead of making his excuses and leaving, Harry clenched his jaw tightly enough to be visible from the outside and used his finger to push his gold, wire-framed specs further up his nose. “Okay, layabout. Time to pull yourself together. Considering your condition, I reckon I might actually beat you at a game of chess.”
They spent the day together; they did play chess, and Harry won the first game, though Ron won the other two. They read through Ron’s quidditch journals, even though most of them were issues they had seen many times over, since he refused to ever discard one. They laid on the sofa with their feet entwined in the middle, talking about old cases and the Cannons’ chances to take the Cup. When lunch came, they assembled sandwiches together, working seamlessly without either needing to direct the other. Ron couldn’t help thinking how nice it was.
For most of the day, the strangeness was at bay. Occasionally it would try to creep in, when their gazes tangled, or when one of them inadvertently brushed too close to the other in Ron’s tiny flat kitchen. But by silent agreement they ignored it, and Ron was grateful. This was just a temporary thing, a ridiculous thing, and even though it seemed Harry was now aware of it, he appeared as determined as Ron not to allow it to spoil their friendship.
Harry left just before dinner. Ron walked him to the door since his flat didn’t have a fireplace. Rationally, he could Disapparate from any room, but going to the door seemed to be part of the ritual of saying goodbye. They were joking around and laughing like always, and Ron mentally breathed a sigh of relief. He was right, this thing would pass, and everything would be back to normal. “Well,” Harry said, digging the toe of his trainer into the tile of the entryway, “I’ll see you later, yeah?”
“Yeah, o’course.” Ron grinned and opened his arms to hug Harry the way they had a thousand times since they were eleven. The brunet moved into his arms, but instead of wrapping one arm around Ron’s waist and the other over his shoulder in the familiar embrace, he wrapped both arms around Ron’s neck and pulled him close. Ron stood awkwardly, his heart racing, before hesitantly sliding his arms around Harry’s middle. There was a soft sound, as if Harry was breathing him in, and he shivered and swallowed. Harry pulled way abruptly and blatantly avoided his friend’s gaze as he pulled out his wand, waved, and popped out of sight.
O0O
Ron sat on the closed toilet, carefully worrying the small glass bottle between his fingers. He had been in the same position for an hour now, and he still was no closer to doing the thing that he should do. In his sober state, his plan now seemed ludicrous and foolhardy. It would be best if he just opened the potion and poured it down the sink. He had tugged at the cork nearly half a dozen times, in fact, though never hard enough to actually do the job. Because, he admitted to himself with a heavy sigh, he didn’t want to do the right thing.
He was in love with Harry. He was in love with his best friend. In the stillness he silently admitted it to himself. That fact was rising above all else, making the temptation to do the selfish thing nearly unbearable. It was only the second time he could ever recall feeling that way, only now there was no horcrux to blame. Though, Harry was in his heart just as surely as Voldemort’s soul had been in that horcrux, the memory of his smile speaking just as clearly as that disembodied voice. After all Ron had been through, didn’t he deserve something? Just a night. Just one night to sustain him the rest of his life. Harry would know later, of course, that it wasn’t Ginny. But if Ron did this thing right, Harry wouldn’t know who it had been. Ron would have what he needed, and their friendship would survive.
With a shaky breath, he stood and carefully placed the Polyjuice Potion into the soap depression next to the sink to keep it safe. There had never been any question, really.
O0O
“Oh, my baby boy is home,” his mum squealed when Ron apparated into her kitchen the next day, and he laughed.
“You say that every week like I’m not here for dinner every Sunday.”
Molly tutted, pushing him toward the dinner table and settling him into a chair. “Well, I certainly don’t see you the rest of the week, do I? It wouldn’t surprise me if you just stopped visiting altogether.” He rolled his eyes as she filled his glass with pumpkin juice, and he greeted his dad, George and Angelina, and Bill and Fleur and his little niece.
“Now Molly, leave the boy alone,” Arthur said with a smile. “The point of raising children is for them to go off and have their own lives.”
She harrumphed, but Ron interrupted before she could settle into her topic. “Mum, do we still have those boxes stashed in the attic?” he asked as he spooned mash onto his plate. “I think I left something in one that I need.”
“I suppose dear, not that I go up there, you know. That dreadful ghoul.” She shuddered and pointed at his eldest brother with her fork. “Bill, take Ronnie upstairs after we finish and keep that nasty creature at bay while your brother looks for whatever it is he needs.”
“That’s not necessary,” Ron said quickly. “I’m sure I can handle it.”
“Of course he can,” Bill laughed. “He did win a war, mum.” He raised a glass at his brother with a grin, and Ron felt guilty all over again. Now he was lying to his family. He nearly asked himself if this was worth it, but then he remembered Harry’s bare chest and stomach, damp from the shower and corded with muscle, and knew that it was.
After stuffing himself with chicken and potatoes, he headed up to the attic and started opening boxes at random. He knew exactly what he sought, but it seemed that each incorrect box that he opened yielded some item perfectly suited to distract him from his task. There were lots of pictures; pictures of him, pictures of him with Harry and Hermione at school and shots of just him and Harry during training and on their graduation day. There were yellowed sheets of parchment, carefully folded and refolded, containing the notes he and Harry had passed back and forth during Potions and Herbology, and later during their class lessons for the academy. He found one of Harry’s shirts, obviously passed down from Dudley, and remembered borrowing it to sleep in one night when they’d decided to go camping like muggles—without wands—and he’d dropped his whole pack in a stream. He had worn the shirt, and Harry’s bare shoulders had gleamed in the campfire light, and they had told ridiculously bad ghost stories and toasted gooey marshmallows.
Ron ran a hand over his face, his chest aching. For the first time it really occurred to him that the future would bring. Harry would marry Ginny, and Ron would be stuck on the sidelines as the best friend and brother, watching them start their life together, start a family. He would be expected to smile through more perfect moments with Harry, and then to hand him over to Ginny. He would be expected to witness the birth of their children, to hold them. Ron gasped for air as he realized, really realized the truth. It would kill him. He couldn’t do it. He was going to have to leave, to ask for a transfer somewhere far away and would spend the rest of his life making excuses to see Harry and Ginny as little as possible. But first, he decided resolutely as he finally located the correct box, he was going to have his one shining memory. He opened the baby book with “Ginny” written across the front in purple pen and flipped through until he found the correct page. He used his thumb and index finger to carefully separate one single red-gold strand from the small lock neatly tied with a pink ribbon and affixed to the album with a sticking spell, then tugged until it broke away without a sound.
O0O
Ron grumbled in his newly-feminine voice and tugged at the hem of the skirt once again. He’d found the clothes in the same box as Ginny’s album, random pieces that he managed to put together into an outfit, thankful they had been available to him. He hadn’t even thought about how odd it would look for him to show up as his sister while still wearing his regular clothes. Not that he planned to wear them for very long.
The change had been much milder than he remembered from second year. Of course, it probably helped that he and Ginny were similar in build; tall, slender and long-limbed. But even in his sister’s form the pleated school skirt was too short and the light blue jumper a tad too tight, and he realized that they had probably been relegated to the attic not because she had graduated, but because she had outgrown them. He hoped they still appeared somewhat okay, since he refused to look in a mirror. He had no interest in looking at anything—anything—on his sister’s body.
He took the time to lower Harry’s wards and used the front door to enter Harry and Ginny’s flat. It was well after midnight, and he knew Harry would be fast asleep in anticipation of work the next day. The living room, as well as the rooms he could see beyond, were completely dark and silent, and he gripped the banister tightly as he began to climb the stairs toward the bedrooms. He crept into the master suite, just making out the lump of Harry’s sleeping form beneath the covers.
Though Harry’s features were heavily shadowed and indiscernible, Ron couldn’t help but stare intently at his best friend’s face as he lowered himself cautiously onto the mattress. The face of the man he loved. Biting his lip, he reached out and shook Harry gently by the shoulder until the man grunted abruptly and rolled over.
“Ginny?”
Ron swallowed his nerves as best he could. “Hi, Harry.”
“What are you doing home? I thought you would be gone until Friday?”
“I—I had to see you. I missed you to much,” Ron improvised. He drew in a breath and leaned forward, angling for a kiss, and was surprised when Harry pulled away to sit up fully and cast a Lumos.
“I thought you’d still be angry with me,” he said quietly.
Huh? “No…No, of course not.”
Harry chuckled, but without humor. “I almost wish you were, Gin. It would make this—easier.”
Confused, Ron wisely held his tongue.
“I’ve thought a lot about what you said, and I think you were right. I think the only solution to this is for us to break up. God, I’m so sorry.”
What?! “Why? Harry, we…we shouldn’t break up. I mean, we’re good together, aren’t we?”
“It’s like you said, Gin. The sex is what’s good, and that isn’t enough to sustain a relationship. Especially knowing what you know now. But, maybe we both do need closure. Do you want to have sex? Properly say goodbye to each other?”
Ron opened and closed his mouth—Ginny’s mouth—unable to form words. This was not something he had ever anticipated, and he wasn’t sure what to say or do. Like usual, his plan was imploding. He managed to nod.
Harry nodded back. “Good. Do you…do you want to summon the stuff?” At Ron’s confused look, Harry grimaced. “I’m sorry, you’re right. It needs…it needs to be like this. Everything genuine. That’s the right way to say goodbye.” Before Ron could ask for clarification, Harry leaned forward and captured his borrowed lips in a kiss.
Ron moaned softly as Harry’s mouth coaxed his, gently prodding and prying until his tongue slipped inside as his arms wrapped around Ron’s waist, his palms caressing his back through the thin material of the jumper. Clothes seemed to melt away as they kissed, long, slow minutes passing until they were both naked. Harry turned them gently so that he could press Ron—Ginny—back against the bed and then he came over the redhead. As Harry pushed tenderly but insistently into his borrowed body, Ron could only hold onto his strong shoulders and send up a fervent prayer to the universe that this would be enough.
O0O
“Hey Weasley,” Draco called, quickening his walk to catch up with his partner the next morning in the corridor. Ron paused, and the blond looked him over as they came face-to-face. “You look like shit.”
“Gee, thanks,” Ron said despondently. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”
Draco raised a brow and grinned. “Do you want me to make you feel ‘special’?” He laughed outright at Ron’s likely horrified look. “Right. Anyway, have you heard about Potter’s break-in?”
“What?” Ron gasped, hoping it came across less guilty than it sounded to his own ears. He had woken in Harry’s bed in the wee hours of the morning, in Harry’s arms where the other man had pulled him against his chest as they slept. As he had carefully disentangled himself and slid from the blankets to make his escape, the pain of leaving perfect bliss behind had rushed through his gut like a physical burn. He had thought for one terrible moment that he was dying, before he managed to gain enough control to Floo home.
“Yeah, apparently some crazy fan Polyjuiced or glamoured themselves to look like Ginevra and managed to break through the wards and enter the house.” Ron pinched his lips together to hold in a sigh of relief, glad he had thought to leave a trail that would suggest a stranger. “Potter’s not saying much about what happened, but we can surmise. He’s climbing the walls, and Kingsley sent him home for the day.”
“That’s terrible,” Ron said, frowning. It was terrible. He had never wanted Harry to feel unsafe, it just hadn’t occurred to him until he was already leaving his flat that he couldn’t simply Floo in, or Harry and Ginny would know that whoever Harry had slept with had to be someone their wards allowed. God, he needed to see Harry.
He didn’t realize he had spoken aloud until Malfoy said, “Yeah, Kings suggested you go check on him. He said for you to take the day as well if you like.”
Ron nodded. “Say, is that transfer position in Fiji still available?”
Draco blinked. “I think so. Why?”
“No reason,” Ron sighed. He pressed a fist to his chest; the weird burning in his gut was back. He pulled his hand away to wave goodbye to his partner and headed back toward the Floo bank.
O0O
“Anyway, Ginny had no idea what I was talking about. She hasn’t left Canada. And the Aurors have no leads,” Harry said glumly, staring into his untouched mug of tea.
Ron reached out and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” No one knew how sorry.
His friend managed a weak smile. “Thanks. Now it’s just a waiting game. I stupidly didn’t use a protection spell, so we might receive a paternity demand. Kingsley thinks if it was just about pictures, we would have gotten copies of them by now.”
Ron nodded silently, hating himself a little. He stayed with Harry until late, watching television, but Harry never mentioned breaking up with Ginny. Ron decided he had probably changed his mind. He didn’t know whether to be happy or sad.
Two weeks passed, and Harry began to look more cheerful. Ron did his best to avoid spending one-on-one time with him, though he knew it confused Harry and Ron had caught him staring at him more than once. Unable to stand it any longer, he had a private meeting with Kingsley about taking the available transfer position. Kingsley had been shocked and had tried to talk Ron out of it, but finally realized that the redhead was unusually determined. He had promised to process the transfer and sent him to the Auror physician to renew his physical.
“Any unexplained pain or vomiting?” Healer Day asked warmly, going through the regular diagnostic spells.
“Nah. My stomach’s been upset, but that’s probably stress. And my diet’s not that great, really.”
The Healer smiled, making a note on her chart. “Well, green vegetables would probably help. We’ll do some bloodwork just in case, but my best prescription for the stress is a nice, hot bath and counting your blessings.”
O0O
Ron was at home staring at the fireplace mantel that night when Ginny Floo called and asked to come through. When she stepped into his living room, she had a bag with her and she had obviously been crying. She dropped her things and threw herself into his arms.
“I’m on my way to Luna’s,” she sobbed into his shoulder as he patted her back rather awkwardly. “I just wanted you—all of you--to hear it from me. Harry and I broke up, but we’re fine and you aren’t allowed to hate him or hurt him,” she said firmly, pulling away and swiping at her eyes.
He ignored the thrill that shot through him. “If you’re so fine, why are you crying?”
She laughed a little and shrugged, looking about the room and suddenly avoiding his gaze “That’s what you do when you break up. Even if it’s for a good reason, it’s still sad.”
Ron watched her carefully. “Was it? For a good reason?”
Ginny busied herself gathering her belongings from the floor. “You should talk to Harry about that, really. Anyway, I’ve got to be going. I’ll be at Luna’s until I can find a little place of my own.”
His gut tumbled, and he felt nauseous again. “Do you need money?”
She looked at him then, warmly, and shook her head. She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I love you, Ron. Remember that, okay?”
He nodded, bewildered, as she Flooed away. He stood in his confusion for a few moments, but then the nauseous feeling became overwhelming and he had to rush to the loo. For the first time in years, he vomited—twice.
O0O
Early the next morning, Ron was awakened by a strange owl pecking on his window. He stumbled from the bed, yawning. He had fallen asleep early, had slept deeply for more than ten hours, and yet he still felt exhausted. Shaking his head at himself, he opened his bedroom window to admit the owl. After casting a couple of precautionary spells, he untied the parchment from its foot and unrolled the scroll.
Dear Auror Weasley,
Please come to my office as soon as you receive this message. Unfortunately, I could not approve your transfer, and we should discuss the reason.
Ophelia Day, Healer
He stared at the words in shock. Did he have some terrible, incurable disease? Was he dying? Ron dropped the message and dashed for his closet. Later, he couldn’t even remember choosing items of clothing and putting them on. He didn’t think he had ever gotten ready so quickly. Just a few minutes after receiving her message, Ron was at Healer Day’s office and her assistant was ushering him into the private room where the healer awaited him.
“Just tell me plain,” Ron said the second the door closed, “am I going to die?”
Healer Day looked speechless, but then her shoulders relaxed, and he knew she was forcing herself to appear less tense. She gave him a small smile. “Not at all, Auror Weasley. I apologize for the ambiguity of my note, but it was well-warranted. This is something important, that should be handled with discretion.” She motioned to a chair beside her, and Ron sat. “Auror Weasley, you are a pureblood, are you not?” Her small frame was practically quivering with what appeared to be excitement, her fluff of salt-and-pepper hair bobbing up and down. Ron nodded. “Yes, yes,” she murmured, nodding also. “That makes the most sense. This condition is rare, but almost always seen in pureblood men. That’s the hereditary element. There are other factors, of course—having intercourse with an alpha Werewolf, or having intercourse on a day with both a solar and lunar eclipse. Oh, and using Polyjuice that has been activated by a preserved infant or childhood hair of an adult woman, but of course I’m certain that isn’t relevant to your case. No, likely it just runs in your family, Auror Weasley.”
Ron stared at her with what he knew was a gobsmacked expression until she ran herself down and paused to take a breath. “What does? What runs in my family?”
Healer Day’s brows rose. “Why, male pregnancy, Auror Weasley.”
All of the air had left the room, he was certain of it, because he couldn’t draw a breath. “P-Pregnant? You…” he leaned over and placed his head between his knees until he stopped hearing strange bells and seeing darkness at the edges of his vision, then tried again. “You’re telling me that I’m pregnant?”
Healer Day nodded again. “It’s very early, but most definite. I’m afraid that I cannot approve your transfer, under the circumstances. In fact, I’m going to suggest that Head Auror Shacklebolt place you on paternity leave immediately. Male pregnancies are much more tenuous than female pregnancies, and you really ought to be on bedrest from the beginning. Now, I’d like to schedule you for a more thorough prenatal examination, but how are you feeling? Exhaustion? Nausea? A strange burning sensation in your midsection?”
Ron nodded dumbly, barely able to form coherent thoughts. “Yes,” he whispered. “All of it.”
“That will be your womb forming and settling. That should finish soon, though the nausea, I’m sorry to say, will likely be present for the duration. Pregnant wizards tend to experience prolonged symptoms, and more intensely.”
The clanging in his head began anew, and Ron stood suddenly--so suddenly that he became lightheaded, and Healer Day had to rush forward to keep him from collapsing to his knees. “No,” he said loudly, in direct contrast with his physical display, “No. There’s been a mistake. I’m—I’m going to get a second opinion.”
Rather than being angry, Healer Day patted his shoulder. “I would suggest it. See someone you trust to be discreet. And after that, you really should talk to the baby’s father.”
O0O
“She’s right, Ron. The blood test is quite definite, and see that?” Neville pointed to a tiny grayish splotch in the middle of a darker area on the image that floated above them from the ultrasound spell he was using. “That’s your baby. In just a few weeks, the heart will be large enough to detect it beating.”
Ron cursed, and Neville canceled the spell as the redhead began to pace back and forth in his office at Hogwarts, where Neville had taken over Madam Pomfrey’s post. “What am I going to do?” he muttered. “What in the hell am I going to do?”
“You should talk to Harry,” Neville said quietly, moving over to the basin to wash up.
Ron spun on his heel and stared. “You--? How?”
Neville conjured a clean flannel and dried his wet hands and forearms. “I think most of our dorm has known how you feel since school,” he said gently. “Putting together the stories in the Prophet about Harry’s mysterious nocturnal visitor a few weeks ago with this…”
Ron broke down, a sob bursting from his chest as he bent his head and grabbed handfuls of his own hair. “Harry will never forgive me. Fuck, I’ve ruined everything. I am the most selfish shit alive.”
Neville began calmly changing the linens on the bed where Ron had been examined. “Think of all of the other times Harry has forgiven you; when he had no reason to, before you even asked him to. Now you’re carrying his child.” He paused and looked up. “Go and talk to him, Ron.”
Ron’s face crumpled again, tears sliding from the corners of his eyes. “I’m going to ruin his whole life. He’s going to hate me.”
Neville stepped closer and rested one hand on the footrail of the bed, the other on Ron’s back. “You know, it’s still early. There’s an herb—” he stopped abruptly when Ron turned, his face horrified. Neville smiled. “That’s what I thought. You already know what you’re going to do. Now you just have the find the strength to do it.”
O0O
Ron stood on Harry’s stoop. Neville had given him a hug before he left and had told him that he had more strength than he knew, but he still hadn’t managed to find enough to lift his hand and knock. He was giving himself yet another pep talk when the door opened, and Harry filled the entry and propped his shoulder against the jamb. “Were you planning to knock sometime today?” His words weren’t sharp, but his voice was quiet, serious.
He stepped to the side when Ron stepped forward, allowing his friend to enter. “I guess you’re wondering why I didn’t Floo,” he said croakily, weakly attempting to break the ice as they walked toward the living room.
“Not really,” Harry said in that same, strange voice.
Ron paused and looked, really looked, at Harry for the first time in weeks. He appeared tired, and sad. But he didn’t seen worried, or confused.
“You know,” Ron breathed.
Harry nodded. “Not at first. Not until I laid down that next night to sleep, in fact. After the Aurors and everything had already happened.”
Ron wrapped his arms around himself, his eyes stinging with the threat of new tears.
“I think I was too distracted that night to smell it, but I did later. The potion changes the shape of your skin, but it’s your skin, and if you put something on it--say the aftershave that I bought you for your birthday—it remains. Until, I suppose, it rubs off on my pillowcase.”
“You didn’t say anything,” Ron said hollowly.
“I was hoping you would come to me!” Harry—and the tension—finally exploded, and he threw his hands up. “Why?! My god, why?”
Ron drew a deep breath and collected every ounce of courage that he still possessed. He lifted his head and looked Harry directly in the eyes. “Can’t you guess?”
Harry’s eyes searched his face, as though looking for certainty, and then his entire body visibly relaxed. He moved forward and gripped Ron’s upper arms. “Do you know why your sister suggested we break up?”
Distracted by the heat of Harry’s palms on his bare skin, he could only frown and shake his head.
“Because I told her months ago that I love you. That I thought part of me might always love you.” Ron’s gasp was covered by Harry’s slightly hysterical laughter. “It was an impossible situation. Messy, no matter how it came out. We tried, we really did. She even brewed up some Polyjuice toward the end, and—” he stopped abruptly and flushed pink. “Well, I imagine you can guess.”
Ron’s shoulders shook with silent sobs, tears sliding down his faintly freckled cheeks. It didn’t make any sense. These things—they didn’t happen to him. It just didn’t make any sense. Even if it did, he still had to tell Harry—well, it was all going to be stolen away. He rested his forehead on Harry’s shoulder.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” Harry wrapped one arm around Ron’s waist and stroked his other hand over Ron’s hair. “I know it’s not ideal, Ron. Merlin knows what your parents will have to say about it. But I love you. And I think you love me. And—and we can be happy. Maybe one day we could get married even, and adopt a baby. Would you like to have a child?”
Ron choked on a shocked giggle and started to cough, pulling away to compose himself. When he could breathe, he said, “How would you feel if one day was sooner than you think?”
Harry’s brow furrowed. “Well, I’d marry you tomorrow, but your mum…” he trailed off as Ron shook his head. Green eyes met watery, laughing blue ones and widened. “You—What are you…?”
“What do you know about male pregnancy?” Ron chuckled.
Harry’s own laugh was a startled explosion, and he reached up to scratch the back of his head. “Er, not much. Are you telling me I should drop by and visit Hermione?”
Ron snagged Harry’s fingers and brought them up to rest on his still-flat abdomen. “Apparently, we both should.” He sighed. “God, this is going to be a clusterfuck, isn’t it?”
“I think it already is,” Harry said, still laughing. “I think that’s what we do best, emerging triumphant from clusterfucks.” He pulled Ron in closer, wrapping his arms tightly around him.
Ron melted into the embrace, but grimaced. “That doesn’t really sound like the fairytale sort of happy ending.”
Harry tilted Ron’s face down slightly with a hand on the back of his neck and met his gaze earnestly. “Then maybe it’s time to change the definition,” he said, and then made it a promise by sealing it with a kiss.
Author/Artist:
sw33tch3rrypi3Pairing(s): Harry/Ron (Also mentions of Harry/Ginny and maybe the tiniest hint of unrequited Draco/Ron)
Prompt: #S10
Summary: “It was curiosity that killed the cat in the end, at least that's what Ron kept telling himself. He wasn't jealous of Harry's relationship with his sister, he wasn't. Just...curious. Yeah, that was it. Ginny was flaunting it and he wanted to know good it really was. All it took was one hair, a Potion he knew all too well, and there he was, being a she in Harry's arms... only it all went to pot from there.”
Word Count: 8300
Rating: PG/T
Warnings/Contains: Hints of questionable consent (as Harry doesn’t actually know who he’s sleeping with); Mpreg, obviously
Notes: Thank you to the amazing Flynn and everyone else involved with this fest! Much gratitude, as always, to my beta, J. My_thestral, I hope you enjoy my humble offering. This is not a pairing I’ve written before, and I was intrigued by both the challenge and your brilliant prompt. xx
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
O0O
“—And he does this thing with his tongue that’s just…” Ginny trailed off with a sigh, occupying her mouth with another bite of perfectly pan-fried filet rather than bragging.
“Thank you for that, er, colorful description, Ginny,” Hermione said awkwardly, shooting Ron a look that was clearly begging for assistance. Forget it. She was the one who had invited his sister to tag along to their weekly dinner, and she could handle Gin’s inappropriate dinner conversation all by herself. Ron was busy…not brooding or glaring. He was…doing something. But not brooding. Or glaring. He took another sip of his butterbeer and continued not-glaring across the table.
“I’m just saying, Hermione, that you should be proper jealous of me, especially now that you’re not getting any regularly,” Ginny grinned. Into the uncomfortable silence that followed, she raised a brow and added, “Unless you two are still…?”
“No!” Ron nearly shouted at the same time Hermione shook her head vehemently. Almost a year ago they had announced their split, telling their friends that they just didn’t have enough chemistry. Only the two of them knew the truth, and Hermione had been great about keeping his secret and remaining his friend. He wasn’t ready to tell anyone else, and especially not Ginny.
His sister eyed them suspiciously before seeming to shrug off the idea. She shoved her empty plate away and returned to her former topic. “Really Hermione,” she said as Ron likewise returned to not-brooding, “you should at least find a decent fuck buddy. Someone with good stamina, like Harry.”
Ron choked on his sip of butterbeer as Hermione murmured something noncommittal, but both were drowned out by the screech of Ginny’s chair as she rose from the table to make her goodbyes. She had an away game the next day and needed to head home to pack her things and portkey to South America. As she Flooed away, Ron thought uncharitably that it was fortunate she had found time to mooch a free meal, and then mentally cringed at his unkind thoughts toward his baby sister.
“Don’t even say it,” Hermione warned, beginning to clear the table. Ron joined her, stacking their dirty plates, and didn’t say anything, though he cut his eyes at her and she caught the look. After fifteen years of friendship, it was an entire conversation.
“I know,” she groaned gustily, “I know. My word, Ginny--”
“Has no filter,” Ron supplied, placing the dirty dishes he’d carried across the room into the sink. “She never has, if you’ll remember.” He started the dishes washing themselves with a flick of his wand, avoiding looking again at Hermione and what was certain to be her disapproving expression.
From behind him, she snorted softly. “Then I’d think you’d be used to it by now, but you looked ready to strangle her.”
Ron retrieved his half-empty bottle from the table and took a gulp to wash down the lump in his throat. Somehow his mouth was still dry after he swallowed. He managed a weak, humorless chuckle. “I know you don’t have siblings, ‘Mione, but trust me when I say that brothers do not want to hear detailed accounts of their sister’s sex capers. I mean, it’s gross.”
Hermione moved to stand next to him where he’d draped his body half over her kitchen island. She propped her hips against the granite edge and reached out to tug the bottle from his hands, stealing a sip before passing it back. Several moments of silence passed while he studied the charcoal-coloured veins in the stone and she studied him before she ventured, “And that’s all?”
Ron drew a deep breath and rolled the bottle back and forth between his palms before nodding sharply, once. “And that’s all.” He tilted his head back and drained the last of his butterbeer.
O0O
Ron and Harry had gone into Auror training after Hogwarts, exactly as they had planned since fourth year. As fourteen-year-olds they had laid awake in their beds at night, so close together it was like being on the same mattress, having whispered conversations about what the future would hold. In Ron’s vision, they would be the best Aurors that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had ever seen, closing the toughest cases and getting their pictures in the newspapers every week. And they would be a team, of course. Best friends and partners.
Training had been everything they had expected, and more. Everything else had…not, really. There was a great deal more time spent filling out boring forms and quadruplicate subforms that had to be filed using confusing alphanumeric codes which Ron often forgot (or, to be frank, just didn’t care enough about to remember) than time spent posing for dashing-looking pictures after Incarcerousing evil-doers. Ron had personally imagined himself giving grand, inspiring speeches to new recruits, not being regularly tongue-lashed by the administrative assistants who couldn’t find the aforementioned poorly-filed paperwork. The most significant departure from their daydreams, however, was that Ron and Harry were not partners.
Oh, they had been paired up immediately after becoming full Aurors. It didn’t take long for Kingsley to realize, however, that it was a mistake. Just like in school, they were bad at finding flaws in their own strategies and both he and Harry made reckless choices when the other was in danger. During boring meetings, they passed notes and had silent, immature conversations with their eyes that sometimes made one or both of them laugh aloud at the most inopportune moments. Even when Kinglsey moved them around like firsties so that Harry was sitting several seats up on the same side of the table, Ron found that he couldn’t pull his eyes away from his best mate.
After six months, Kingsley had announced that they were too close to make an effective Auror team and had split them up. They had been paired with two new graduates who had also hoped to be teamed but had similar issues. The closest Ron had ever come to quitting the Aurors was when he was partnered with Draco Malfoy, and they had both been nearly kicked out multiple times during the adjustment period. Even Harry and Blaise Zabini had raised wands a time or two. That had been six years ago, and as Ron tilted his chair back and propped his booted feet up on the corner of his desk while surveying their tiny office, it was almost comical to recall, now.
“Whose bloody turn was it to clean the coffee machine?” Malfoy groused, wrinkling his nose as he opened the filter compartment. “Oh, that’s fucking disgusting.”
“Not mine,” Harry and Blaise said nearly simultaneously, neither bothering to look up from their writing tasks. Draco crossed his arms and stared down his partner. Ron shrugged and plucked another chocolate digestive from the plastic sleeve in his hands that he was quickly emptying. He shoved it into his mouth and then gestured, indicating his apparent inability to speak while chewing, despite it rarely stopping him under ordinary circumstances. Draco’s lips twitched.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, pulling out his wand to cast the necessary cleaning spells.
Blaise finally paused in his work, tossing down his quill and stretching his long arms over his head until his spine popped. “I fancy going out tonight. You all up for drinks after work?”
Malfoy turned his head from where he was sliding the coffee pot into place as the machine began to brew. “I’m in. I’ll owl Pansy and ask her to sit with Mother.” He tilted his chin to gesture across the room, his hands busy opening sugar packets into a cup. “Potter?”
Harry dropped his own quill and rolled his broad shoulders. Ron looked down and brushed crumbs from the front of his uniform, ignoring the way his heart sped up. It was—it was just a stupid thing. It would pass. It would. He refused to give it more attention than it deserved.
“Sounds good,” Harry said, “as long as it’s fine with Gin. I’ll Floo her before we leave.”
Blaise coughed over something that sounded like “whipped,” then said, “Weasley? Time for you to get back in the game. Plenty of lovely ladies at the Slate and Hare last time I was in.”
Ron looked up, feeling himself flush. Draco raised a brow, but cut across quickly, “Which knowing you, Zabini, was last night.”
“Hey!” Blaise protested, picking up the bait. “I’ll have you know that I was seeing that blonde from the O’Reilly case for three whole weeks!”
Harry laughed. “Oh, a record! Because before that it was the Swiss model for, what, two nights?”
“And Veronica Tarlington from Games and Sports for maybe a week before that,” Draco added.
“Eight days,” Blaise huffed.
“Oh yes, that’s very different,” Harry grinned, his teeth flashing very white in the fine, dark facial hair he now wore before he looked back at Ron. The redhead had braced himself, but it was still like a minor electric shock racing through him from temple to toes. “Mate? You’re coming, yes?”
Ron forced himself to hold the warm look for several seconds before looking away and clearing his throat. “’Course.” He shoved another biscuit in his mouth.
O0O
The Slate and Hare was just a few blocks from the Ministry, and so they walked together after clocking out and changing clothes, bundling up in heavier robes and gloves to guard against the chill and damp of a London spring evening. On the way out of the lobby they picked up Finnegan and his Auror partner Padma Patil, and then on the pavement they ran into Alex Harper and his girlfriend, who had just finished work at Gringotts and opted to join them. That prompted Draco to send a Patronus to Theo, who worked in the archives with Granger, and the two of them met them at the pub doors. By the time they entered the building, they were a madcap group in high spirits.
“Well, he’s certainly happy to see us,” Harry nodded at the dour-faced barman while shrugging off his outer robes and tugging off his gloves. “Think he blames me for bringing this lot into his pub, since I was in the lead,” he laughed.
“Can’t help it, can you?” Ron shoved up the sleeves of his dark blue jumper and ran his fingers through his fiery hair to settle it down after pulling off his orange wool cap. He poked Harry gently in the ribs with his elbow. “Pied Piper, innit? Always have been.” He grinned when his friend rolled his eyes, but then his heart fluttered when Harry laid a warm hand on his shoulder. He gently squeezed, and Ron felt his smile tremble as his breath caught. He watched as Harry’s brow furrowed slightly before his eyes widened, and Ron jerked away.
“Gerroff,” he laughed heartily, overly loud even in the din of their friends. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his tan corduroy trousers and queued up for his pint. A second later he felt the warmth of Harry’s slightly shorter but bulkier frame as he came up behind him and cuffed the back of his neck before throwing an arm around his shoulders. Ron kept his gaze averted.
“How about a drink for my first mouse, eh?” Harry’s voice sounded slightly scratchy but just as affectionate as ever, and Ron couldn’t help but meet his eyes and return his smile.
Once everyone in the group had their drinks and assorted snacks, Theo and Blaise pushed two tables together and stole some chairs from others to give them enough room for everyone to sit. Ron found himself beside Harry and across from Draco, who promptly began taking the mickey over Harry’s Floo call to Ginny before they had left work.
“She isn’t even in the country, Potter!”
Harry swallowed the foam he’d sucked off the head of his pint, rolling his eyes. “It’s called respect, Malfoy. Just because we’re not in the same place doesn’t mean that we stop affording each other the same level of care as when we’re together.”
Ron shifted his damp glass around on the tabletop as several of their group catcalled and made kissy sounds, watching the careful pattern he created in the pooling condensation. His stomach roiled, and he told himself that he was hungry. He’d only had breakfast and one lunch and the biscuits, and he really should have ordered some food at the bar. He blinked away a slight burning from his eyes. He was tired and feeling drained. And happy. Happy for his sister to have such a good partner.
“Anyway,” he tuned back into the clamor just to hear Harry say, “Ginny will be out of town with the Harpies for four days this week, so I was thinking of getting together a poker night.”
“Did she give you her express permission to have friends over, Potter?” Blaise chortled. Harry threw his napkin at him, and he batted it away and added, “Why haven’t you two walked down the aisle yet? Might as well, she already has your balls in her fist!”
Ron looked at Harry, curious about that, himself. His friend looked up and caught his eye, then flushed and looked away. Ron blinked. Why was Harry embarrassed? Did he think Ron faulted him for not proposing yet? It wasn’t really his business, was it? And he loved Ginny, but even he would admit she was a lot to take on for life.
“Stop trying to distract us from the fact that you owe everyone a round from last week, Zabini,” Draco said suddenly, “and pay up.”
Ron felt unusually grateful for his partner and chugged the rest of his pint to make room for the next as Blaise grumbled and unstraddled his seat to head to the bar. Oddly, when they’d left the Ministry, he hadn’t felt much like a night out, but suddenly, drinking seemed like the best idea ever.
O0O
Nearly three hours later, Ron was alone in the quiet of the pub as the barman called for last orders. Everything was a warm, muzzy sort of lavender shade. He’d lost track of the number of pints he had imbibed, and there had been several rounds of shots in between. Most of their group had departed after about an hour, leaving Harry, Ron, Draco, and Blaise. Draco had stuck around another hour and then left to relieve Pansy and put his mother to bed. Blaise had pulled shortly after that and had left the pub with a curvy little blonde on his arm. Suddenly it had just been Harry and Ron, and a thick, nearly palpable discomfort. After several minutes of silence, Harry had mumbled something about going home and Floo calling Ginny to say goodnight, and then Ron had been the cheese—standing alone. Or sitting, rather.
Now he stood, and tugged on his outerwear with sluggish, rather clumsy movements. He nodded at the barman as he passed. The man looked slightly less grouchy but a bit concerned, and Ron waved him off as he stumbled through the door and out onto the road. He didn’t feel like going home. He felt restless and unsettled. The day’s events kept swirling around in his head; also, Ginny’s dinner conversation from the night before. With the absence of the inhibitions that generally bolstered his walls of denial, he found himself being somewhat more honest with himself. He was curious, of course he was. Harry was a very attractive man, and Ron was—well, Ron was gay. Of course he couldn’t help but wonder what Harry was like in bed. But his honesty stopped short of anything more than that. He was just curious.
Ron looked up and noticed that he was coming to the corner of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. While the latter was no longer a popular gathering area for Death Eaters, and was measurably less foul, it was still well-known as the place to find difficult-to-obtain items. He swaggered to a stop just in front of one of the new corner shops, surprised to see the welcoming lights still blazing. It was called Danforth Designs, but everyone knew that it rode the line. Aside from home décor items, there were a number of rarer potions and enchanted objects available for purchase. Ron peered blearily at the window display, showing a delicately-turned whitewashed writing desk with an arrangement of charming items resting on its surface. Suddenly, he stood a bit straighter and blinked. Between the fancy-edged parchment and the skull-shaped crystal paperweight was a small, corked, glass bottle containing a purple-blue shimmering potion. As he watched, the potion seemed to move, as though the lights inside the liquid themselves were alive. He knew that potion, and well.
Without realizing that a plan had already half-formed in his mind, he entered the shop and walked straight toward the front window, fuzzily wondering how to reach that bottle from the backside. Like a phantom, a man appeared before him with an overly-saccharine smile beneath his whisper-thin, dramatically curling mustache. “Ah, I see that something in our little display has caught your discerning eye,” he purred in a vaguely Parisian accent. Ron looked between the man and the slightly elevated window, frowning. Did one simply ask for such an item? Polyjuice potion was supposed to be highly-regulated, each vial registered and given a unique number so that it could be tracked. He suspected that the vial in the window had been mysteriously “lost” by someone else.
“Perhaps,” the salesman continued, seeming to sense Ron’s disquiet, “it was this?” From the pocket of his black apron he pulled a second, matching vial. “Only two in our entire inventory. This is the special, new-and-improved Polyjuice Potion. It lasts ten hours and provides a more realistic experience for the user. And, of course, that pesky voice issue has been resolved.”
Ron’s eyes were fixed on the little bottle. His brain, which had previous felt like it was attempting to function through a vat of treacle, was suddenly racing along. Why not? He could do it. Just once. He could satisfy his curiosity and get a good joke over on Harry and Ginny in one fell swoop. Sure, his conscience laughed, a joke. Ignoring it, he asked hoarsely, “How much?”
O0O
Roll rolled over and groaned, tugging the spare pillow over his head as the songbird outside his bedroom window loudly tittered its excitement over the early April sunshine. His head throbbed, and his mouth felt like he’d licked a sweaty, fuzzy quidditch sock, but neither issue was pressing enough to pull him from the comfort of his bed. It was likely that his bladder would force him out before another hour had passed, but for now he planned to ignore everything and go back to sleep for at least a bit longer.
That plan was scuppered by pounding footsteps on the stairs just before Harry burst into his room, ruddy and windblown and grinning and looking far too attractive for Ron’s weakened state of resistance. The redhead rolled over, took one look, groaned again, and covered his face with the pillow. Harry laughed.
“None of that.” He tugged the pillow away and tossed it onto the floor, then waited until Ron had gingerly pulled himself into a seated position and arranged the dark grey sheet strategically over his lap before he passed over a brown paper bag and a paper cup filled with coffee. “Foolproof hangover cure.” He settled down on the corner of the mattress.
Ron opened the bag and removed a handful of chips, ignoring the protestations of his stomach as he crammed them into his gob. No matter how nauseous he might feel, he hadn’t sicked up since the slugs in second year, and he knew that Harry spoke the truth. Greasy chips and caffeine would have him feeling back to himself in no time. “Thanks,” he grunted through his mouthful.
“Sure.” Harry winked and suddenly that damned tension was back. This time, though, instead of making his excuses and leaving, Harry clenched his jaw tightly enough to be visible from the outside and used his finger to push his gold, wire-framed specs further up his nose. “Okay, layabout. Time to pull yourself together. Considering your condition, I reckon I might actually beat you at a game of chess.”
They spent the day together; they did play chess, and Harry won the first game, though Ron won the other two. They read through Ron’s quidditch journals, even though most of them were issues they had seen many times over, since he refused to ever discard one. They laid on the sofa with their feet entwined in the middle, talking about old cases and the Cannons’ chances to take the Cup. When lunch came, they assembled sandwiches together, working seamlessly without either needing to direct the other. Ron couldn’t help thinking how nice it was.
For most of the day, the strangeness was at bay. Occasionally it would try to creep in, when their gazes tangled, or when one of them inadvertently brushed too close to the other in Ron’s tiny flat kitchen. But by silent agreement they ignored it, and Ron was grateful. This was just a temporary thing, a ridiculous thing, and even though it seemed Harry was now aware of it, he appeared as determined as Ron not to allow it to spoil their friendship.
Harry left just before dinner. Ron walked him to the door since his flat didn’t have a fireplace. Rationally, he could Disapparate from any room, but going to the door seemed to be part of the ritual of saying goodbye. They were joking around and laughing like always, and Ron mentally breathed a sigh of relief. He was right, this thing would pass, and everything would be back to normal. “Well,” Harry said, digging the toe of his trainer into the tile of the entryway, “I’ll see you later, yeah?”
“Yeah, o’course.” Ron grinned and opened his arms to hug Harry the way they had a thousand times since they were eleven. The brunet moved into his arms, but instead of wrapping one arm around Ron’s waist and the other over his shoulder in the familiar embrace, he wrapped both arms around Ron’s neck and pulled him close. Ron stood awkwardly, his heart racing, before hesitantly sliding his arms around Harry’s middle. There was a soft sound, as if Harry was breathing him in, and he shivered and swallowed. Harry pulled way abruptly and blatantly avoided his friend’s gaze as he pulled out his wand, waved, and popped out of sight.
O0O
Ron sat on the closed toilet, carefully worrying the small glass bottle between his fingers. He had been in the same position for an hour now, and he still was no closer to doing the thing that he should do. In his sober state, his plan now seemed ludicrous and foolhardy. It would be best if he just opened the potion and poured it down the sink. He had tugged at the cork nearly half a dozen times, in fact, though never hard enough to actually do the job. Because, he admitted to himself with a heavy sigh, he didn’t want to do the right thing.
He was in love with Harry. He was in love with his best friend. In the stillness he silently admitted it to himself. That fact was rising above all else, making the temptation to do the selfish thing nearly unbearable. It was only the second time he could ever recall feeling that way, only now there was no horcrux to blame. Though, Harry was in his heart just as surely as Voldemort’s soul had been in that horcrux, the memory of his smile speaking just as clearly as that disembodied voice. After all Ron had been through, didn’t he deserve something? Just a night. Just one night to sustain him the rest of his life. Harry would know later, of course, that it wasn’t Ginny. But if Ron did this thing right, Harry wouldn’t know who it had been. Ron would have what he needed, and their friendship would survive.
With a shaky breath, he stood and carefully placed the Polyjuice Potion into the soap depression next to the sink to keep it safe. There had never been any question, really.
O0O
“Oh, my baby boy is home,” his mum squealed when Ron apparated into her kitchen the next day, and he laughed.
“You say that every week like I’m not here for dinner every Sunday.”
Molly tutted, pushing him toward the dinner table and settling him into a chair. “Well, I certainly don’t see you the rest of the week, do I? It wouldn’t surprise me if you just stopped visiting altogether.” He rolled his eyes as she filled his glass with pumpkin juice, and he greeted his dad, George and Angelina, and Bill and Fleur and his little niece.
“Now Molly, leave the boy alone,” Arthur said with a smile. “The point of raising children is for them to go off and have their own lives.”
She harrumphed, but Ron interrupted before she could settle into her topic. “Mum, do we still have those boxes stashed in the attic?” he asked as he spooned mash onto his plate. “I think I left something in one that I need.”
“I suppose dear, not that I go up there, you know. That dreadful ghoul.” She shuddered and pointed at his eldest brother with her fork. “Bill, take Ronnie upstairs after we finish and keep that nasty creature at bay while your brother looks for whatever it is he needs.”
“That’s not necessary,” Ron said quickly. “I’m sure I can handle it.”
“Of course he can,” Bill laughed. “He did win a war, mum.” He raised a glass at his brother with a grin, and Ron felt guilty all over again. Now he was lying to his family. He nearly asked himself if this was worth it, but then he remembered Harry’s bare chest and stomach, damp from the shower and corded with muscle, and knew that it was.
After stuffing himself with chicken and potatoes, he headed up to the attic and started opening boxes at random. He knew exactly what he sought, but it seemed that each incorrect box that he opened yielded some item perfectly suited to distract him from his task. There were lots of pictures; pictures of him, pictures of him with Harry and Hermione at school and shots of just him and Harry during training and on their graduation day. There were yellowed sheets of parchment, carefully folded and refolded, containing the notes he and Harry had passed back and forth during Potions and Herbology, and later during their class lessons for the academy. He found one of Harry’s shirts, obviously passed down from Dudley, and remembered borrowing it to sleep in one night when they’d decided to go camping like muggles—without wands—and he’d dropped his whole pack in a stream. He had worn the shirt, and Harry’s bare shoulders had gleamed in the campfire light, and they had told ridiculously bad ghost stories and toasted gooey marshmallows.
Ron ran a hand over his face, his chest aching. For the first time it really occurred to him that the future would bring. Harry would marry Ginny, and Ron would be stuck on the sidelines as the best friend and brother, watching them start their life together, start a family. He would be expected to smile through more perfect moments with Harry, and then to hand him over to Ginny. He would be expected to witness the birth of their children, to hold them. Ron gasped for air as he realized, really realized the truth. It would kill him. He couldn’t do it. He was going to have to leave, to ask for a transfer somewhere far away and would spend the rest of his life making excuses to see Harry and Ginny as little as possible. But first, he decided resolutely as he finally located the correct box, he was going to have his one shining memory. He opened the baby book with “Ginny” written across the front in purple pen and flipped through until he found the correct page. He used his thumb and index finger to carefully separate one single red-gold strand from the small lock neatly tied with a pink ribbon and affixed to the album with a sticking spell, then tugged until it broke away without a sound.
O0O
Ron grumbled in his newly-feminine voice and tugged at the hem of the skirt once again. He’d found the clothes in the same box as Ginny’s album, random pieces that he managed to put together into an outfit, thankful they had been available to him. He hadn’t even thought about how odd it would look for him to show up as his sister while still wearing his regular clothes. Not that he planned to wear them for very long.
The change had been much milder than he remembered from second year. Of course, it probably helped that he and Ginny were similar in build; tall, slender and long-limbed. But even in his sister’s form the pleated school skirt was too short and the light blue jumper a tad too tight, and he realized that they had probably been relegated to the attic not because she had graduated, but because she had outgrown them. He hoped they still appeared somewhat okay, since he refused to look in a mirror. He had no interest in looking at anything—anything—on his sister’s body.
He took the time to lower Harry’s wards and used the front door to enter Harry and Ginny’s flat. It was well after midnight, and he knew Harry would be fast asleep in anticipation of work the next day. The living room, as well as the rooms he could see beyond, were completely dark and silent, and he gripped the banister tightly as he began to climb the stairs toward the bedrooms. He crept into the master suite, just making out the lump of Harry’s sleeping form beneath the covers.
Though Harry’s features were heavily shadowed and indiscernible, Ron couldn’t help but stare intently at his best friend’s face as he lowered himself cautiously onto the mattress. The face of the man he loved. Biting his lip, he reached out and shook Harry gently by the shoulder until the man grunted abruptly and rolled over.
“Ginny?”
Ron swallowed his nerves as best he could. “Hi, Harry.”
“What are you doing home? I thought you would be gone until Friday?”
“I—I had to see you. I missed you to much,” Ron improvised. He drew in a breath and leaned forward, angling for a kiss, and was surprised when Harry pulled away to sit up fully and cast a Lumos.
“I thought you’d still be angry with me,” he said quietly.
Huh? “No…No, of course not.”
Harry chuckled, but without humor. “I almost wish you were, Gin. It would make this—easier.”
Confused, Ron wisely held his tongue.
“I’ve thought a lot about what you said, and I think you were right. I think the only solution to this is for us to break up. God, I’m so sorry.”
What?! “Why? Harry, we…we shouldn’t break up. I mean, we’re good together, aren’t we?”
“It’s like you said, Gin. The sex is what’s good, and that isn’t enough to sustain a relationship. Especially knowing what you know now. But, maybe we both do need closure. Do you want to have sex? Properly say goodbye to each other?”
Ron opened and closed his mouth—Ginny’s mouth—unable to form words. This was not something he had ever anticipated, and he wasn’t sure what to say or do. Like usual, his plan was imploding. He managed to nod.
Harry nodded back. “Good. Do you…do you want to summon the stuff?” At Ron’s confused look, Harry grimaced. “I’m sorry, you’re right. It needs…it needs to be like this. Everything genuine. That’s the right way to say goodbye.” Before Ron could ask for clarification, Harry leaned forward and captured his borrowed lips in a kiss.
Ron moaned softly as Harry’s mouth coaxed his, gently prodding and prying until his tongue slipped inside as his arms wrapped around Ron’s waist, his palms caressing his back through the thin material of the jumper. Clothes seemed to melt away as they kissed, long, slow minutes passing until they were both naked. Harry turned them gently so that he could press Ron—Ginny—back against the bed and then he came over the redhead. As Harry pushed tenderly but insistently into his borrowed body, Ron could only hold onto his strong shoulders and send up a fervent prayer to the universe that this would be enough.
O0O
“Hey Weasley,” Draco called, quickening his walk to catch up with his partner the next morning in the corridor. Ron paused, and the blond looked him over as they came face-to-face. “You look like shit.”
“Gee, thanks,” Ron said despondently. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”
Draco raised a brow and grinned. “Do you want me to make you feel ‘special’?” He laughed outright at Ron’s likely horrified look. “Right. Anyway, have you heard about Potter’s break-in?”
“What?” Ron gasped, hoping it came across less guilty than it sounded to his own ears. He had woken in Harry’s bed in the wee hours of the morning, in Harry’s arms where the other man had pulled him against his chest as they slept. As he had carefully disentangled himself and slid from the blankets to make his escape, the pain of leaving perfect bliss behind had rushed through his gut like a physical burn. He had thought for one terrible moment that he was dying, before he managed to gain enough control to Floo home.
“Yeah, apparently some crazy fan Polyjuiced or glamoured themselves to look like Ginevra and managed to break through the wards and enter the house.” Ron pinched his lips together to hold in a sigh of relief, glad he had thought to leave a trail that would suggest a stranger. “Potter’s not saying much about what happened, but we can surmise. He’s climbing the walls, and Kingsley sent him home for the day.”
“That’s terrible,” Ron said, frowning. It was terrible. He had never wanted Harry to feel unsafe, it just hadn’t occurred to him until he was already leaving his flat that he couldn’t simply Floo in, or Harry and Ginny would know that whoever Harry had slept with had to be someone their wards allowed. God, he needed to see Harry.
He didn’t realize he had spoken aloud until Malfoy said, “Yeah, Kings suggested you go check on him. He said for you to take the day as well if you like.”
Ron nodded. “Say, is that transfer position in Fiji still available?”
Draco blinked. “I think so. Why?”
“No reason,” Ron sighed. He pressed a fist to his chest; the weird burning in his gut was back. He pulled his hand away to wave goodbye to his partner and headed back toward the Floo bank.
O0O
“Anyway, Ginny had no idea what I was talking about. She hasn’t left Canada. And the Aurors have no leads,” Harry said glumly, staring into his untouched mug of tea.
Ron reached out and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” No one knew how sorry.
His friend managed a weak smile. “Thanks. Now it’s just a waiting game. I stupidly didn’t use a protection spell, so we might receive a paternity demand. Kingsley thinks if it was just about pictures, we would have gotten copies of them by now.”
Ron nodded silently, hating himself a little. He stayed with Harry until late, watching television, but Harry never mentioned breaking up with Ginny. Ron decided he had probably changed his mind. He didn’t know whether to be happy or sad.
Two weeks passed, and Harry began to look more cheerful. Ron did his best to avoid spending one-on-one time with him, though he knew it confused Harry and Ron had caught him staring at him more than once. Unable to stand it any longer, he had a private meeting with Kingsley about taking the available transfer position. Kingsley had been shocked and had tried to talk Ron out of it, but finally realized that the redhead was unusually determined. He had promised to process the transfer and sent him to the Auror physician to renew his physical.
“Any unexplained pain or vomiting?” Healer Day asked warmly, going through the regular diagnostic spells.
“Nah. My stomach’s been upset, but that’s probably stress. And my diet’s not that great, really.”
The Healer smiled, making a note on her chart. “Well, green vegetables would probably help. We’ll do some bloodwork just in case, but my best prescription for the stress is a nice, hot bath and counting your blessings.”
O0O
Ron was at home staring at the fireplace mantel that night when Ginny Floo called and asked to come through. When she stepped into his living room, she had a bag with her and she had obviously been crying. She dropped her things and threw herself into his arms.
“I’m on my way to Luna’s,” she sobbed into his shoulder as he patted her back rather awkwardly. “I just wanted you—all of you--to hear it from me. Harry and I broke up, but we’re fine and you aren’t allowed to hate him or hurt him,” she said firmly, pulling away and swiping at her eyes.
He ignored the thrill that shot through him. “If you’re so fine, why are you crying?”
She laughed a little and shrugged, looking about the room and suddenly avoiding his gaze “That’s what you do when you break up. Even if it’s for a good reason, it’s still sad.”
Ron watched her carefully. “Was it? For a good reason?”
Ginny busied herself gathering her belongings from the floor. “You should talk to Harry about that, really. Anyway, I’ve got to be going. I’ll be at Luna’s until I can find a little place of my own.”
His gut tumbled, and he felt nauseous again. “Do you need money?”
She looked at him then, warmly, and shook her head. She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I love you, Ron. Remember that, okay?”
He nodded, bewildered, as she Flooed away. He stood in his confusion for a few moments, but then the nauseous feeling became overwhelming and he had to rush to the loo. For the first time in years, he vomited—twice.
O0O
Early the next morning, Ron was awakened by a strange owl pecking on his window. He stumbled from the bed, yawning. He had fallen asleep early, had slept deeply for more than ten hours, and yet he still felt exhausted. Shaking his head at himself, he opened his bedroom window to admit the owl. After casting a couple of precautionary spells, he untied the parchment from its foot and unrolled the scroll.
Dear Auror Weasley,
Please come to my office as soon as you receive this message. Unfortunately, I could not approve your transfer, and we should discuss the reason.
Ophelia Day, Healer
He stared at the words in shock. Did he have some terrible, incurable disease? Was he dying? Ron dropped the message and dashed for his closet. Later, he couldn’t even remember choosing items of clothing and putting them on. He didn’t think he had ever gotten ready so quickly. Just a few minutes after receiving her message, Ron was at Healer Day’s office and her assistant was ushering him into the private room where the healer awaited him.
“Just tell me plain,” Ron said the second the door closed, “am I going to die?”
Healer Day looked speechless, but then her shoulders relaxed, and he knew she was forcing herself to appear less tense. She gave him a small smile. “Not at all, Auror Weasley. I apologize for the ambiguity of my note, but it was well-warranted. This is something important, that should be handled with discretion.” She motioned to a chair beside her, and Ron sat. “Auror Weasley, you are a pureblood, are you not?” Her small frame was practically quivering with what appeared to be excitement, her fluff of salt-and-pepper hair bobbing up and down. Ron nodded. “Yes, yes,” she murmured, nodding also. “That makes the most sense. This condition is rare, but almost always seen in pureblood men. That’s the hereditary element. There are other factors, of course—having intercourse with an alpha Werewolf, or having intercourse on a day with both a solar and lunar eclipse. Oh, and using Polyjuice that has been activated by a preserved infant or childhood hair of an adult woman, but of course I’m certain that isn’t relevant to your case. No, likely it just runs in your family, Auror Weasley.”
Ron stared at her with what he knew was a gobsmacked expression until she ran herself down and paused to take a breath. “What does? What runs in my family?”
Healer Day’s brows rose. “Why, male pregnancy, Auror Weasley.”
All of the air had left the room, he was certain of it, because he couldn’t draw a breath. “P-Pregnant? You…” he leaned over and placed his head between his knees until he stopped hearing strange bells and seeing darkness at the edges of his vision, then tried again. “You’re telling me that I’m pregnant?”
Healer Day nodded again. “It’s very early, but most definite. I’m afraid that I cannot approve your transfer, under the circumstances. In fact, I’m going to suggest that Head Auror Shacklebolt place you on paternity leave immediately. Male pregnancies are much more tenuous than female pregnancies, and you really ought to be on bedrest from the beginning. Now, I’d like to schedule you for a more thorough prenatal examination, but how are you feeling? Exhaustion? Nausea? A strange burning sensation in your midsection?”
Ron nodded dumbly, barely able to form coherent thoughts. “Yes,” he whispered. “All of it.”
“That will be your womb forming and settling. That should finish soon, though the nausea, I’m sorry to say, will likely be present for the duration. Pregnant wizards tend to experience prolonged symptoms, and more intensely.”
The clanging in his head began anew, and Ron stood suddenly--so suddenly that he became lightheaded, and Healer Day had to rush forward to keep him from collapsing to his knees. “No,” he said loudly, in direct contrast with his physical display, “No. There’s been a mistake. I’m—I’m going to get a second opinion.”
Rather than being angry, Healer Day patted his shoulder. “I would suggest it. See someone you trust to be discreet. And after that, you really should talk to the baby’s father.”
O0O
“She’s right, Ron. The blood test is quite definite, and see that?” Neville pointed to a tiny grayish splotch in the middle of a darker area on the image that floated above them from the ultrasound spell he was using. “That’s your baby. In just a few weeks, the heart will be large enough to detect it beating.”
Ron cursed, and Neville canceled the spell as the redhead began to pace back and forth in his office at Hogwarts, where Neville had taken over Madam Pomfrey’s post. “What am I going to do?” he muttered. “What in the hell am I going to do?”
“You should talk to Harry,” Neville said quietly, moving over to the basin to wash up.
Ron spun on his heel and stared. “You--? How?”
Neville conjured a clean flannel and dried his wet hands and forearms. “I think most of our dorm has known how you feel since school,” he said gently. “Putting together the stories in the Prophet about Harry’s mysterious nocturnal visitor a few weeks ago with this…”
Ron broke down, a sob bursting from his chest as he bent his head and grabbed handfuls of his own hair. “Harry will never forgive me. Fuck, I’ve ruined everything. I am the most selfish shit alive.”
Neville began calmly changing the linens on the bed where Ron had been examined. “Think of all of the other times Harry has forgiven you; when he had no reason to, before you even asked him to. Now you’re carrying his child.” He paused and looked up. “Go and talk to him, Ron.”
Ron’s face crumpled again, tears sliding from the corners of his eyes. “I’m going to ruin his whole life. He’s going to hate me.”
Neville stepped closer and rested one hand on the footrail of the bed, the other on Ron’s back. “You know, it’s still early. There’s an herb—” he stopped abruptly when Ron turned, his face horrified. Neville smiled. “That’s what I thought. You already know what you’re going to do. Now you just have the find the strength to do it.”
O0O
Ron stood on Harry’s stoop. Neville had given him a hug before he left and had told him that he had more strength than he knew, but he still hadn’t managed to find enough to lift his hand and knock. He was giving himself yet another pep talk when the door opened, and Harry filled the entry and propped his shoulder against the jamb. “Were you planning to knock sometime today?” His words weren’t sharp, but his voice was quiet, serious.
He stepped to the side when Ron stepped forward, allowing his friend to enter. “I guess you’re wondering why I didn’t Floo,” he said croakily, weakly attempting to break the ice as they walked toward the living room.
“Not really,” Harry said in that same, strange voice.
Ron paused and looked, really looked, at Harry for the first time in weeks. He appeared tired, and sad. But he didn’t seen worried, or confused.
“You know,” Ron breathed.
Harry nodded. “Not at first. Not until I laid down that next night to sleep, in fact. After the Aurors and everything had already happened.”
Ron wrapped his arms around himself, his eyes stinging with the threat of new tears.
“I think I was too distracted that night to smell it, but I did later. The potion changes the shape of your skin, but it’s your skin, and if you put something on it--say the aftershave that I bought you for your birthday—it remains. Until, I suppose, it rubs off on my pillowcase.”
“You didn’t say anything,” Ron said hollowly.
“I was hoping you would come to me!” Harry—and the tension—finally exploded, and he threw his hands up. “Why?! My god, why?”
Ron drew a deep breath and collected every ounce of courage that he still possessed. He lifted his head and looked Harry directly in the eyes. “Can’t you guess?”
Harry’s eyes searched his face, as though looking for certainty, and then his entire body visibly relaxed. He moved forward and gripped Ron’s upper arms. “Do you know why your sister suggested we break up?”
Distracted by the heat of Harry’s palms on his bare skin, he could only frown and shake his head.
“Because I told her months ago that I love you. That I thought part of me might always love you.” Ron’s gasp was covered by Harry’s slightly hysterical laughter. “It was an impossible situation. Messy, no matter how it came out. We tried, we really did. She even brewed up some Polyjuice toward the end, and—” he stopped abruptly and flushed pink. “Well, I imagine you can guess.”
Ron’s shoulders shook with silent sobs, tears sliding down his faintly freckled cheeks. It didn’t make any sense. These things—they didn’t happen to him. It just didn’t make any sense. Even if it did, he still had to tell Harry—well, it was all going to be stolen away. He rested his forehead on Harry’s shoulder.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” Harry wrapped one arm around Ron’s waist and stroked his other hand over Ron’s hair. “I know it’s not ideal, Ron. Merlin knows what your parents will have to say about it. But I love you. And I think you love me. And—and we can be happy. Maybe one day we could get married even, and adopt a baby. Would you like to have a child?”
Ron choked on a shocked giggle and started to cough, pulling away to compose himself. When he could breathe, he said, “How would you feel if one day was sooner than you think?”
Harry’s brow furrowed. “Well, I’d marry you tomorrow, but your mum…” he trailed off as Ron shook his head. Green eyes met watery, laughing blue ones and widened. “You—What are you…?”
“What do you know about male pregnancy?” Ron chuckled.
Harry’s own laugh was a startled explosion, and he reached up to scratch the back of his head. “Er, not much. Are you telling me I should drop by and visit Hermione?”
Ron snagged Harry’s fingers and brought them up to rest on his still-flat abdomen. “Apparently, we both should.” He sighed. “God, this is going to be a clusterfuck, isn’t it?”
“I think it already is,” Harry said, still laughing. “I think that’s what we do best, emerging triumphant from clusterfucks.” He pulled Ron in closer, wrapping his arms tightly around him.
Ron melted into the embrace, but grimaced. “That doesn’t really sound like the fairytale sort of happy ending.”
Harry tilted Ron’s face down slightly with a hand on the back of his neck and met his gaze earnestly. “Then maybe it’s time to change the definition,” he said, and then made it a promise by sealing it with a kiss.
