I posted this on my LJ and got a great response and thought I'd like to share it with you all here at FIA. Rated PG-13 for Language and some sexual imagery.

Enjoy.

---

Pregnant. Oh. Dear. God.

"I'm pregnant."

'I am pregnant. I am pregnant. I am pregnant.'

The thought looped incessantly inside her head, the differing inflections serving only to make it all that much worse. There was no escaping it. She was pregnant.

"YOU'RE WHAT?" Molly Weasley shrieked, her voice threatening to shatter the ancient crystal vase set in the middle of the worn kitchen table, the drooping heads of the rapidly-browning lizeanthis trembling with the force of her rage. Her outburst had only accomplished the worst possible outcome - three of her six brothers, Hermione and Harry had come running at the sound of Mrs. Weasley's screams, and were currently gathered around the kitchen door, staring open-mouthed at the sobbing Ginny and her incandescent mother.

"I...er...think...we'll...er...leave you...er...to it," Ron stammered, guiding his friends and siblings backwards slowly.

Seeming to notice them for the first time, Molly turned to them,

"Ron, Harry, Hermione, I'd like to speak with you. Fred, George, you're going to be late for work."

"Never mind that mother, it's our shop," Fred protested, clearly desperate to learn what the littlest Weasley had done to make their mother so mad.

"You will be late for work. Go. Now," Molly intoned, in a voice that brooked no opposition. The twins knew better than to argue, and two sharp cracks later, there were only five people left in the burrow.

Cautiously, the three just-about-to-become-seventh-year Gryffindors sat down at the table - Ron sitting between Hermione and Harry.

Turning on them, her eyes flashing dangerously, Molly said, "Do you know anything about this?" in a low, deceptively calm voice.

"About what Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked carefully.

"Ginevra, tell them what you just told me."

"Mum....please...." Ginny protested weakly.

"Don't you 'Mum please' me young lady! Tell them."

"Yeah, go on, Gin, tell us," Ron blurted eagerly, earning a silencing glare from both Molly and Hermione.

Looking utterly miserable, her head bowed, she mumbled, "I'm…sort of…pregnant."

There was ringing silence for a few moments before an odd choking sound issued forth from Ron's lips. He appeared to be having an aneurysm, or at least an attack of some description, since his face was turning rapidly purple.

"YOU'RE WHAT?" he screamed, causing Hermione and Harry to both wince and begin to edge their chairs away from him.

"Ronald, that's enough!" Molly commanded firmly.

"We didn't know, Mrs. Weasley. I promise you," Hermione whispered quietly.

"That's alright dear. I didn't think you would."

Harry was gaping at Ginny in undisguised disbelief.

"So tell us, Ginevra, who is the father? I want to know, young lady, and I want to know NOW!"

Ron immediately turned from red to green, as if he'd suddenly realised what it was that Ginny had to have been doing in order to get pregnant in the first place.

His mouth moved soundlessly for a few moments, looking absurdly fish-like, before he looked at his two best friends. Noticing Harry's disbelieving stare, his face drained of blood, and he looked thoroughly sick as he struggled to make his voice work.

"It's...it's...it's...not...not...Harry, is it?"

Both Harry and Ginny went instantly scarlet.

"NO!" they both yelled at the same time.

"Ginevra...Harry dear..." Molly muttered warningly.

"No, Mum, it's NOT Harry, I promise you," Ginny implored.

"No, Mrs.Weasley, it's not me," Harry muttered quietly, looking for all the world as though he sincerely hoped the ground would open up and swallow him. "I mean, we've never even...you know...been...involved," Harry stammered, his eyes darting wildly around the room as though searching for some sort of embarrassment-free bolt-hole.

"Oh..." Mrs. Weasley looked a little crestfallen. "So who is it then?" she demanded.

"I'm not telling you. I can't tell you," Ginny stated firmly.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T TELL ME? ARE YOU SAYING THAT YOU DON'T KNOW? DEAR GODS, GINEVRA!" Molly shrieked again.

"No mum, it's not like that! I know very well who the father is, but I simply can't tell you!" Ginny moaned.

"Can't or won't?" Molly snapped.

"Both!" Ginny exclaimed vehemently, lifting her chin in defiance.

"Fine," Molly spat, "we'll see about that. So help me gods, one way or another, he's going to pay."

---

By the time her other five brothers and her deeply, heart-wrenchingly disappointed father had been informed of her condition, Ginny had had enough. She'd been screamed at, cajoled and threatened with disownment; nevertheless she remained stoic in her silence and had flounced out of the house and down to the bottom of the garden, Crookshanks in tow, to watch the sunset.

"Why him, Ginny?"

She was momentarily startled at how silent Harry's approach had been. Poor Harry, he'd been the first one the finger of suspicion landed on, and had been yelled at by her entire family before either of them had a chance to exclaim his innocence. She imagined that he must be feeling utterly mortified.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't try to con a con-man, Gin, I have the map, remember."

"Oh."

"Seriously, Gin, I know it's nothing to do with me, despite what your family thinks," at this, he gave a small chuckle, "but I can't help knowing what I know. I saw what I saw and the 'Marauders Map' doesn't lie."

"So tell me, Harry, what did you see?" She was calling his bluff - if he was fishing, this would catch him out.

"You and Malfoy, in the room of requirement."

Oh, dear. He did know.

"Oh God, Harry, please don't tell anyone?" she begged.

"It's not my secret to share. But don't expect me to cover for you with your family. Lying to them by omission is hard enough, please don't ask any more of me than that. I can't do it, Gin. Your mum has been so good to me these last six years that lying to her is almost physically painful and I won't!"

"I'm not asking you to, Harry. Thank you for taking all that crap earlier and not telling them, by the way."

"It's fine, it was quite amusing actually, once you get over the utter mortification aspect obviously. You know, when Fred and George got hold of me, I was almost ready to stop waiting for the ground to open up, and start digging the hole for myself."

"It wouldn't have been funny if you'd ended up in St Mungo's - that silver thing looked pretty gruesome to me."

"Good job your mother has a sixth sense when it comes to Fred and George then, isn't it?" At this, they both began to laugh, and Ginny gave him a brief hug to shouted choruses of 'Get off my sister Potter'.

---

Morning sickness was a bugger.

Three days into the new school year, Ginny was sitting at the Gryffindor table feeling decidedly the worse for wear, breaking small squares off of a piece of dry toast and trying unsuccessfully to eat them, when Ron tugged roughly on her sleeve and pointed up towards the rafters of the great hall, where the morning post owls were beginning their descent.

Ron had still not come to terms with her condition, but, as he had said, he was her brother and she needed him. Actually, he had said that she needed him 'to beat the shit out of the bastard responsible for her current situation', but she chose to ignore that last bit.

The dancing red envelope attached to a fluttering and twittering Pigwidgeon was bad. It was very bad. She knew she couldn't keep her condition quiet for long, but she had hoped that her mother would chose not to humiliate the family in front of the entire spawn of wizarding England. Clearly her hopes were in vain. She'd not even worked out how to tell Draco yet, oh dear god, this was going to be ugly.

Pig landed in front of her and hopped excitedly from foot to foot, knocking bits of her shredded toast left, right and centre. Detaching the Howler with trembling fingers, she hoped that she would be able to make it to at least the entrance hall, and maybe, if she was fast, outside to the grounds. Alas, the moment she went to move, her stomach rebelled violently and she slumped back into her seat, watching with the detached fascination of the condemned as the envelope began to swell, smoke venting from the edges.

She put her hands over her ears and laid her head on the table. Let the final and complete humiliation of Ginny Weasley begin.

The Howler exploded with the force of a small bomb, and her mother's voice echoed inescapably around the hall. Interestingly she was not shrieking, but her voice was booming and dangerous all the same, and every head in the hall was turned towards the Gryffindor table, where Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione were sat at the epicentre of the disaster.

"ATTENTION MALE STUDENTS OF HOGWARTS! Harry and Ron dear, obviously I don't mean you. ONE OF YOU IS RESPONSIBLE FOR IMPREGNATING MY DAUGHTER. I ADVISE YOU TO STAND UP AND CONFESS IMMEDIATELY. THE LONGER YOU REMAIN SILENT, THE WORSE THE PUNSHMENT WILL BE. YOU WILL NOT BE ALLOWED TO GET AWAY WITH DOING THIS TO MY LITTLE GIRL, MARK MY WORDS."

The Howler then burst into flame, the ashes fluttering to the floor. When Ginny dared to raise her head and remove her fingers from her ears, she was met with a silence so profound that a pin-drop would have been excessive. Every single eye in the school was trained on her, and she felt the diffuse heat of a blush spread across her cheeks. The scraping of a chair and the rhythmic clop-clop-clop of heeled boots were the only sounds to meet her ears, and looking around, she saw Professor McGonagall walking down the aisle towards her, her face pinched and pensive.

"Miss Weasley. Come with me please." Her words rang like gongs in the suffocating silence, and Ginny had no choice but to comply, her walk of shame marked by the simultaneous head turning of every student from every house. It was almost poetic in its grace and fluidity, it could not have been choreographed better.

---

Impregnate? Pregnant? Oh. Dear. God. She was pregnant. She was pregnant. She was pregnant. Holy shit. No, in fact ‘holy shit’ didn’t even begin to cover it.

He waited with baited breath for the slamming of the main door as it shut behind Ginny and McGonagall – The moment it echoed through the room, furious whispering broke out among the assembled students.

Raking a hand through his hair, he struggled to remain calm as his fellow Slytherins scoffed and joked about ‘the little Gryffindor tart that can’t keep her legs closed long enough to perform a contraception charm’. He managed to keep his face impassive – barely, as mutters were exchanged about ‘more filthy Weasley bastards,’ and ‘can’t afford their children, let alone grandchildren’. Matters were not helped by the odd looks he was getting from Potter. He could feel himself breaking out into a sweat. Malfoys didn’t sweat.

Crabbe and Goyle were laughing buffoonishly at something no-doubt incredibly waspish that the insufferable Pansy Parkinson had just imparted to half of Slytherin house, no prizes for guessing the subject.

Sighing as silently as possible, he casually got to his feet and picked up his satchel. He was the first ‘Hogwarts male’ to stand in the aftermath of the Mother Weasel’s Howler, and naturally this drew the attention of a number of people, most of whom noticed who he was and dismissed any notions they may have had – how ironic. Potter, however, was looking at him with an expression of mixed disbelief and suspicion, Weasel-king was (thankfully) oblivious, and Pansy was looking at him curiously.

“Where are you going, Draco?”

“Library – I left my potions assignment on the table last night,” he lied. It was a poor and cliché lie, but Pansy seemed not to notice. Waving her hand vaguely, she turned back to Theodore Nott and placed a predatory hand on his thigh, making him visibly uncomfortable.

Exiting the hall at what he termed his ‘just-slightly-too-fast-to-be-casual’ swagger, he began to head in the direction of the library, just in case anyone was watching. In reality, his poorly thought out plan was to find McGonagall’s office and either wait for Ginny in a shadowy alcove (although it was his waiting for her in shadowy alcoves that got them into this mess in the first place), or barge right in and confess – but Malfoys never confessed to anything, the alcove it would have to be.

“Take a seat, Miss Weasley.”

Ginny carefully sat in the softer of the two chairs, willing herself not to vomit all over the carpet. A combination of anguished terror and morning sickness was not boding well for the scant contents of her stomach.

“Would you like something to drink?” her head of house asked her, in a surprisingly warm voice.

“N…n…no thank you, Professor.”

Oh god, she was going to be expelled, she was going to be thrown out of Hogwarts unqualified and made to live as a Muggle. Still, at least there was no need to worry about her mother finding out!

“So….if your mother’s Howler is anything to go by, it seems that you are with child, Miss Weasley, is that correct?”

Numbly, she nodded.

“I see.”

She could feel her lips trembling, and the tears building up behind her eyes. Unable to prevent them, she put her face in her hands and began to sob, her pleas not to be expelled fading into incoherency.

A moment later, she felt a reassuring pat on her shoulder, and looked up to see Professor McGonagall crouched in front of her.

“Don’t worry, Ginny, you’re not going to be expelled.”

“I…I…I’m not?”

“No. But there are matters to discuss. Firstly, what have you decided about the…baby?”

Ginny’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Decided?”

“Yes, are you keeping it or not?”

“I…I…I’ve not thought about it,” she gasped, her head spinning, “I just assumed I’d keep it, I suppose.”

“How far along are you?” Professor McGonagall asked curiously.

“Erm, eight weeks, more or less.”

“That would mean that the child was conceived when you were under the age of consent, Miss Weasley, this is very serious. Who is the father?”

“I…I can’t tell you, Professor, er, that is to say, I won’t, I’m sorry,” she mumbled, hanging her head so as not to see the inevitable look of disappointment.

“Well, at least tell me this; Is he a Gryffindor? I need to know, Miss Weasley, it’s important.”

“No, Professor.”

“I see.”

“Professor, what’s going to happen?”

“Well, it depends. If you decide to keep the child, then I suppose certain allowances will have to be made. If not, well then, that is self explanatory.”

“You’d let me stay at school pregnant?” Ginny asked incredulously.

“My dear girl, you are not the first witch to become pregnant under this roof, nor, I suspect, will you be the last. Hogwarts has a duty of care to all young witches and wizards, it is bound to educate and qualify you. We are simply unable and unwilling to throw you out over something like pregnancy. But, my dear, you do need to give this situation some serious thought. Have you not discussed your options with your mother?”

“No, you know how she feels about…termination…”

“Yes, quite. But that is of no consequence. It is your choice, Miss Weasley, one that must be fully informed. I suggest a meeting with Madam Pomfrey tomorrow.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Have you spoken to the father?”

“No, Professor, I was waiting for the right moment, but it seems my mother had other ideas.”

“So it would appear. Well I imagine that you and he have rather a lot to discuss. He must be feeling rather shocked.”

“I know. I didn’t want him to find out this way. I’m so confused, and I feel so wretched that I’ve not been able to think properly and we’ve not had a chance to see each other yet.”

“Well then, I shall speak to Madam Pomfrey and arrange an appointment for you. You have Transfiguration this afternoon do you not?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good, I shall notify you then. You may leave.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Ginny rose from her seat, wearily pulled her bag onto her shoulder and headed for the door.

“One more thing, Miss Weasley.”

“Yes, Professor?”

“Do take care.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

---

He heard the handle to the office door turn, and the stereotypical squeak of institutional hinges. Creeping forward as much as he dared, he watched her back out of the room. She was still breathtaking, even from behind – especially from behind, given their antics the last three times they’d met. Three times, that was it, three times using a potion and a charm, and she was pregnant. Clearly his mother wasn’t exaggerating about Weasley fertility after all.

Feeling suddenly very nervous, he stepped out into the corridor silently, and waited for her to turn around. It felt so weird to be looking at her; she looked the same as he remembered, but not. She was standing not ten feet away from him, pregnant with his child – it was a terrifying feeling. Images assaulted his mind’s eye, glimpses of her face, euphoric and angelic in the throes of orgasm, her soft breasts framed by softer titian hair as she lowered herself carefully onto him, her lower lip tantalisingly captured between her teeth, her shapely legs raised in the air, wrapped around his waist, or hooked over his shoulders. Biting back a groan and willing his body not to physically react, he waited.

It seemed an eternity before she finally shut the door with a resounding click and began to turn. In reality it was barely more than five seconds. She was fumbling for something in her bag with one hand, and clutching at her stomach with the other, her head was bent over her bag, concentrating on locating whatever it was she was looking for. Finding it, she pulled it free and stood up straight. Her eyes locked with his and they both froze.

She made the first move, taking a step backwards, still clutching her stomach. The object in her hand transpired to be a handkerchief, which she brought up to her face, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall again.

“Ginny…” he began, unsure what to say.

She gave a muffled sob, turned around and began to walk quickly in the opposite direction.

Oblivious of the public location, he swore and set off after her.

She moved fast, ducking through secret doorways hidden behind tapestries and up narrow staircases he had never seen before, and he was having trouble keeping up with her. He daren't call out to her again in case someone heard, and so he put all his efforts into chasing her.

She was slowing down, he was getting closer. Each time he had thought he was getting somewhere, she would look over her shoulder, squeak, then renew her efforts to escape him, but now she was slowing infinitesimally. Eventually, she ground to a halt, panting and clutching her stomach. Too late he remembered why he was chasing her in the first place, and he stopped dead, the cold tendrils of dread creeping down his spine. He was a fool - she was pregnant with his child and he was chasing her through the school. Surely it couldn't be good for the baby?

She was bent double, gasping for breath, one hand on her ribs, the other over her abdomen. Rushing forwards, he grabbed her bag from her shoulder and placed it on the floor. He went to put his arm around her shoulders, but she shrugged him off, and backed up against the wall.

"Ginny, I..." he began, not knowing how to articulate the tumultous thoughts whirling through his head.

"Please..." she gasped, "Please, Draco, don't..."

"Don't what?" he asked in confusion.

She was sobbing in earnest now, great shuddering gasps that tore the breath from her lungs. She was trying to speak but he couldn't make out the choked words. He didn't know what to do or what she wanted from him, and so he just stood there, one hand uselessly clingling to the elbow of her robes.

"...old enough...how...cope?...Don't...know...what...to...do...not...fair..." she gasped, before dissolving once more into wracking sobs.

Minutes later, she had begun to gain control of herself, and her sobbing had subsided into ragged breaths and wet sniffles. Eventually, she looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, wringing her handkerchief between her fingers.

"What am I going to do?" she whispered. "I'm so sorry, I don't know how it happened."

"What is there to do?" he asked. The moment the words left his lips, he realised that he shouldn't have said them.

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "Professor McGonagall wants me to talk to the school nurse about my options...you know...termination and stuff. But I'm not sure I can. I'm scared, but I don't want it to die."

As she said these words, he felt something clench painfully in his stomach, accompanied by a shuddering, cold wave of nausea. Would she kill their baby? Did he have a say in it? Questions swirled around in his brain, each one grittier than the last, but at the centre of it all, he was desperately trying to avoid asking himself one question; did he care enough about her to risk disownment by confessing his paternity? The answer evaded him.

They had been lovers three times. Before that, they were 'mortal enemies' that hid a growing friendship and mutual attraction behind pointed barbs and witty snipes. It had started one afternoon after Quidditch, and they had been meeting secretly for months since. He enjoyed her company, she was a refreshing change from the simpering saccarin of the Slytherin girls - their conversations were always so much more intellectually stimulating. Then their odd friendship of sorts had turned into lust and desire, and their impassioned kisses and fervent gropes excited him. He was addicted to her in a way - he couldn't keep his hands off her, even going so far as to brush her breast or thigh briefly in the corridor if he had the opportunity.

Inevitably, one day they had gone too far, and neither one of them possessed the will or inclination to halt the process and so they had gone all the way. Some might have called it a quick shag, but Draco Malfoy did not class himself as 'some'. He wasn't sure what it was, but 'Shag' was too coarse a term, 'Sex' was better but so utterly inadequate. He had been her first, and he had taken her hard and fast, ignorant of the magnitude of what he was doing until it was done. When it was over, and the rational part of his brain began to function again, he had gathered her into his arms and kissed her gently, apologising over and over again, trying to explain that he hadn't known. She'd been crying then too.

After that, she'd avoided him for a week, during which he was driven to admit that he missed her. Desperate to make up for his monumental error, he had pulled out all the stops to impress her. Malfoys did not attempt remediation, and so the carefully planned meal in the 'room of requirement' was a distinct departure from his normal behavior. This compulsion to make everything all right again was confusing and frustrating, nevertheless, he was elated when she turned up, her arms folded, and a scowl on her face. He promised her that he would make it up to her, that if she gave him one more chance, he could, and would show her what it should have been like, what he had wanted it to be like. His sincerity and genuine remorse had swayed her, and she had allowed him to touch her once again.

Determined not to make the same mistake, he had taken it slowly, teasing and caressing with infinite tenderness, leaving her breathless and keening her need. When he had finally entered her, slowly and gently, she had cried out in relief. They had made love then, for that was what it had been - they had been creating a greater depth of feeling between them, making the love. Clearly that hadn't been the only thing they had created. That part was still fuzzy in his mind - how on earth had she managed to get pregnant? Not only, in his efforts to prove his contrition, had they taken a contraceptive potion, but they had used a charm too - a good, solid, reliable charm.

With a week to go before the summer holidays, they had returned to their respective houses and resumed the routine of their daily lives, irrevocably altered. Their relationship had been taken to a new level entirely, and their furtive glances and tingling touches of hands in crowded hallways held a new meaning; they recalled memories of their passion, and led to hours lost in daydream. Not that a Malfoy would admit to daydreaming, of course.

She had come to him the night before they journeyed home for the summer, pushing him back onto his bed and straddling him. He'd been surprised by her dominance, but any protestations died on his lips when she began to touch him, taking control and reducing him to full compliance, and it had excited him. When she had finally performed the necessary charms and taken him into her, her movements had ripped the air from his lungs in a series of gutteral groans and their coupling had been hip-achingly passionate, their climax leaving them trembling and incoherent. He had been drawn towards sleep then, encouraged by her still form spreadeagled on his chest, suffusing his body with an oddly sentimental warmth as he watched her fight her own battle with exhaustion. When he had been woken by his room-mates the following morning, she was gone.

She was looking at him now, waiting for him to say something, to tell her it was going to be alright and that she'd wake up and find it all a bad dream. But he couldn't, this much he knew, because the same desire filled him - he wanted to wake up to the high plaster-moulded ceilings of Malfoy Manor, the deep blue of his bedroom walls and the comforting weight of his duvet. But it wouldn't happen - this was real.

"What do you want?" he asked gently. "If you need any... help... you know I'm here."

"Is that what you think I want? Money?" she cried, pushing herself away from the wall and turning to face him, thunder in her eyes.

"No...that's...that's not what I meant," he protested weakly.

"Then what did you mean, Malfoy?"

"I don't know," he sighed, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "I don't know what to do or say to make this any better."

"I think you've done quite enough!" she retorted.

"Please Ginny..."

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "that was uncalled for. I'm just scared; I'm scared that you don't want anything to do with me, I'm scared that my mother will find out about us, or worse, your father, I'm scared because I don't know what I want to do - I'm too young to be a mother but I can't kill it, I couldn't bear it, which really only leaves one option."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"That's not what I mean. Whether you stand by me or not is inconsequential. The fact is, that we both know that it isn't going to work like that. Can you imagine the sorts of dangers this would put us in? Your Father tried to kill me once, remember? For goodness sakes, Draco, this isn't some sort of romantic fiction - this is real, and painful and messy. This is me, a sixteen-year-old girl pregnant with the child of a 'mortal enemy', facing being ostracized and shunned by my friends, ridiculed in the press, and bringing shame onto my family. Have you even considered what might happen to you? We both know which side of the fence your family sits on and it isn't the same as mine. Then of course there's the small problem of me only being fifteen when I fell pregnant - I'm sure that carries a sentance in Azkaban, you know."

He swallowed hard - clearly she'd been giving this a lot of thought.

"Tell me, Draco, how exactly do you propose to 'help' me? Announce your impending fatherhood to the world, marry me and badda-bing badda-boom, happy ending? No, I thought not."

"If you keep the... baby... I want to be involved. Please don't shut me out, Ginny, it's not fair. My father is in Azkaban, thanks to the efforts of your merry little band of Gryffintwerps, so really, the only one to be worried about is my mother, and she'd never disown me." I hope.

"But it's not that easy, is it? If we tell anyone about us, they'll come down on your head over the whole 'underage' thing faster than you can say Quidditch."

It was true, they would.

"We can't hide it forever, Ginny, I refuse to allow you to simply walk away. I thought we had something good? You know I don't have many good things to call my own. If you're going to keep the baby, and please Gods, tell me you are, because I can't bear the thought of you killing it any more than you can, then let me at least be here for you, even if no-one knows it. Don't ever think you've got no-one to turn to, because that's bollocks."

"When did a Malfoy become so poetic and sentimental?" she snapped.

"When a bloody sodding Weasley delivered a bloody sodding kick to his guts, that's when."

"Are you referring to the actual kick I gave you after that Quidditch match, or the figurative one that my mother so subtly delivered at breakfast?"

"Dunno. Both probably."

She laughed weakly, and bent down to pick up her bag. "I'm going to be late - I've got Ancient Runes first."

"I've got Potions."

They looked at each other silently for a few moments, before he gathered her into his arms and hugged her tightly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear, before letting her go.

"So am I," she muttered, fresh tears beginning to track down her face.

Giving her hand one last reassuring squeeze, he released it and watched as she headed down the corridor and disappeared around the corner. Suddenly, chastisement over tardiness seemed so terribly inconsequential, and he felt the weight of his new burden settle squarely on his shoulders. Sighing heavily, he rubbed his face with his hands and began the trek back to the dungeons.

A/N. Huge thanks to Madelene3666 for the beta. I'm sorry my chapter updates seem to take so long but I'm a busy girl. The Oh Dear God Smut cookie will be posted just as soon as I can catch Mynuet on IM to okay it with her.

So Enjoy.

---

If she thought the Howler was bad, the aftermath proved to be a whole lot worse. Whispers followed her everywhere she went, and out of the corner of her eye she saw people looking and pointing. 'There goes that pregnant Gryffindor. Who do you suppose the father is? Do you think it's Harry Potter?' The rumours flew faster than Thestrals, and before long the only topic of conversation throughout the entire student body was on the subject of Ginny and her baby.

Her meeting with Madam Pomfrey had only served to further dissuade her from the idea of a termination, especially after she had been informed in graphic detail of what exactly was involved. She had not had a chance to speak to Draco since the morning of the Howler, but she knew she would have to soon - he was behaving suspiciously; not taunting the Gryffs, not being rude or bossy, and giving her meaningful looks every time he was anywhere near her. Someone would twig if she didn't put him out of his misery. Harry had taken to questioning her quietly on a regular basis, adding incendiary fuel to the already rampant speculations. Aside from Harry, the only other person that knew of her odd relationship with Malfoy was Luna, and she had already told Ginny that a couple of Ravenclaw boys had set up a betting book. She'd even joked that she was tempted to place the entire contents of her savings account on Draco Malfoy, just to see their faces when the truth was finally revealed.

Thus far, the list contained the entire set of Gryffindor Seventh-year boys - Harry, Neville, Dean and Seamus, minus Ron, obviously, half of the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Sixth-years - Colin Creevy, Thomas Mallan, Simon Carter, Michael Corner, Jason DeMorran and Philip Crispin, as well as a few wildcards such as Justin Finch-Fletchley (whom Ginny had it on good authority was, in fact, gay), Zacharias Smith, Terry Boot, and, obviously for entertainment value, Snape. Currently, the top five in descending order were Harry, Neville, Dean, Colin and Justin. If she hadn't been feeling so utterly wretched, she would have found it funny - they were so far off the mark, they were pointing in the opposite direction.

Her morning sickness was fast becoming unbearable. She had thought that trying to hide it at home had been bad enough, but now that she didn't need to hide it, it seemed only to get worse. Ron was no help at all, piling her plate high with greasy bacon and sausages because, as he took an almost vindictive delight in informing half of Gryffindor, she was 'eating for two now'.

Curtailing her drifting thoughts on morning sickness and betting books, she focussed back on the problem in hand - trying to work out how to tell Draco that she was going to keep the baby. That would mean that they would be parents, that she would have to carry her baby to term, give birth to it, care for it, feed it... her mind wandered off at a tangent again, her mind’s eye bringing forth images of her sitting in Transfiguration, bare breasted, nursing an infant, and trying to take notes. Her concentration span was shot away these days.

She no longer thought of her baby as an 'it', she was having a baby, her baby, Draco's baby, and she felt herself growing attached to the idea. She was already beginning to show to a certain degree, and her clothes were becoming uncomfortably tight. Hermione had helped her with a few temporary tailoring charms, but she was going to have to speak to her mother about some larger skirts, although she was reluctant to draw her mother's attention to her pregnancy any more than was absolutely necessary.

Rounding the corner of the corridor that led to the Gryffindor tower, she was immediately startled by someone grabbing her wrist and pulling her through a side door into an empty classroom. Ripping herself free, she looked around wildly, brandishing her wand.

"Don't worry, Gin, you can put that away," came Draco's unmistakable drawl.

She sighed and tucked her wand behind her ear - she had used to keep it in her pocket, but now she was nervous of keeping it too close to the baby.

"How did the appointment go?" he asked.

"Eurgh, I never want to have to hear ANY of what she told me ever again. EVER!" she exclaimed, before reaching out to hug him.

Taking her in his arms, he rubbed her back gently. "What did you... decide?"

"I... I... I'm keeping the baby," she stated at last, hoping he wouldn't push her away. He seemed to sag against her in relief, squeezing her fractionally tighter, before letting her go.

"I'm ... glad ... I think."

"I'm scared."

"I know. But I told you, I'm not the sort of guy that's going to let you down, you know that."

"I know," she said, squeezing his hand.

"So what now?" he asked.

"I don't know. Go on as we always have, and cross any bridges when we come to them I guess."

"You know that if the child's a boy, I'm going to have to come forward, don't you?"

"What did I just say about crossing bridges when we come to them?"

"I know, I know, but..."

She silenced him with a kiss. "No buts. I don't want to hear it right now."

He kissed her back with enthusiasm - trying to convey the longing he still felt for her even after recent events. He could feel the small, firm protrusion of her abdomen and was overwhelmed by the emotions that it evoked in him. His child was growing inside her - a unique combination of Weasley and Malfoy that would rely on its parents to keep it alive long enough for it to have a life of its own, feelings of its own and, perhaps in the future, children of its own. The brief but startling burst of foresight shocked Draco. No longer was he just himself, son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, but his life was now inexorably linked to another life in the most profound way possible. He was going to be a father. The knowledge brought a lump to his throat, and he held Ginny more fiercely than ever before.

The arrhythmic stomping of hundreds of student feet and the discordant crescendo of noise associated with the intermingled voices of many different conversations halted their peaceful interlude, and they leapt from each other’s arms as though burned. Gathering their respective bookbags, they waited in awkward silence for the sounds of the passing students to diminish into the distance before they slipped carefully from the room and strode off in purposefully opposite directions.

As she wandered down towards the Great Hall for lunch, she heard the sounds of Ron, Harry and Hermione having some sort of spirited debate. Or, rather, Ron was spiritedly debating with Harry. As she drew closer, she could make out their words and suddenly became aware of a whole new problem that had added itself to the already gargantuan burdens she carried:

"But why?" Ron whined, "It's not as though I've not seen it before. Why are you suddenly so possessive of it?"

"Just drop it Ron!" Harry said, clearly exasperated. "My reasons are my own. This is my map, written by my father and I don't see as it's any business of yours as to who I choose to allow to use it. You got it dirty the last time you borrowed it and that smudge over the Astronomy Tower is still not completely fixed. Apart from the cloak, it's the last thing of my Dad's that I own and I want to keep it in as good a condition as I can. Is that too much to want?"

"No, but remember that it did belong to Fred and George first. Honestly it's not as though you can actually see people and what they're up to... can you?"

"Ron, but you see who is together and how close their dots are and I think it is a breach of privacy to let too many people see it."

"You weren't saying that last year when you were using it to sneak off and meet that Hufflepuff that you didn't think we knew about."

"Ron, stop it!" Hermione cried. "This is getting us nowhere. It's Harry's map and if he doesn't want to share then that is his prerogative, and I agree that it has begun to look much tattier recently and it is only fair that Harry try to preserve it as much as possible. Although I suppose a couple of well-researched preservation and bibliographic restoration charms might help..."

Suddenly realising that Harry's refusal to lend Ron the map was more likely to do with her and the potential discovery of any meetings she may have with Draco than with any deterioration of the map's condition, she squared her shoulders, raised her chin and marched around the corner as though she had not been hanging back eavesdropping.

"Oh, hi, Gin!" Hermione exclaimed on sighting her. Rushing towards her, the bushy-haired girl linked her arm through Ginny's and purposefully directed them away from Harry and Ron. Obviously Hermione was glad she had found some way of leaving the brewing row behind.

Harry, Ron and Hermione all knew of her intention to keep the baby and for the most part they were supportive, although Ron did voice the loud opinion that he had hoped that it might be either Bill or Charlie that made him an uncle first. Nevertheless, ever since she had told them, Hermione had taken to pestering her about writing to her mother to tell her of her decision and to ask about some new clothes, and this occasion was no exception. Rolling her eyes, she made agreeing noises as Hermione waxed lyrical about how essential it was for an expectant mother to dress comfortably, whilst simultaneously leading them slowly down the corridor and away from Ron's blustering.

Eventually, she heard Ron stomp away and Harry's quick footsteps as he strove to catch up. When he reached them, Ginny shot him a grateful look over the top of Hermione's head but he just scowled and avoided looking her in the eye. When they reached the Great Hall Ron was nowhere to be seen and Harry immediately found himself a seat with Seamus, Dean and Neville, leaving Hermione and Ginny sitting further down the table where, as Hermione put it, it was 'less boisterous'.

Scanning the hall as generally as she could, she was mildly comforted to see Draco sitting with Crabbe and Goyle who appeared to be gesticulating wildly over some parchment. Every time she saw Draco with Pansy Parkinson or one of the other Slytherin girls, an irrational bubble of jealousy and resentment welled up inside. She knew it was the fault of her hormones, but nevertheless it cost her a great deal of self control to remain in her seat when Pansy draped herself over her boyfriend, and she always breathed a sigh of relief to see him in all-male company. As much as she knew that Draco had to maintain appearances, it still burned when Pansy abandoned whatever poor boy she was terrorising that day in order to possessively assert her perceived place at Draco's side. He looked up from his dinner and they locked gazes for a brief second that made her heart pound and something unbearably pleasant to twist inside her chest. He still made her breathless just by looking at her. Their brief moment of silent communication was broken as Ron scrambled into the seat opposite Ginny, breaking her eye contact with Draco. Only when Ron had loaded his plate, pestered his sister to eat properly, and begun to stuff his face, did she dare to look up at him again, only to find that he had gone.

A few moments later, one of the school owls glided from the rafters and alighted in front of Ginny, holding his leg out with a piece of fine-quality parchment attached to it with a piece of green ribbon. Ron narrowed his eyes suspiciously as she quickly removed the missive and stuffed it in her pocket.

"Who's that from, Ginny?" he demanded.

"How should I know?” she retorted, "I've not opened it yet."

"Is it from Him?" Ron hissed. Clearly his bad mood had not been assuaged by a hearty meal.

"And which Him would that be Ronald?" Ginny asked calmly, "there appear to be a great number of Him's in this school. You'll have to be more specific."

"Don't play games Ginny, you know who I mean."

"If you mean 'is it from the father of my baby?', then yes, quite possibly. But as I said, I've not opened it yet and shall decline to do so until I have attained a measure of privacy," Ginny replied primly, buttering a slice of bread, folding it into a sandwich and filling it with salt and vinegar crisps. Raising her eyebrows at her near-apoplectic brother, she bit the corner off of her sandwich and chewed defiantly. Hermione was whispering furiously across the table at Ron commanding him to leave it be, and with a snort of disgust he glared at his sister, picked up his plate and went to make peace with Harry.

"So who is it from, Ginny?" Hermione ventured.

With a weary sigh, Ginny pulled the debated note from her pocket, untied the ribbon and unfurled it. She knew damn well who it was from, and she also knew that he would never sign his name nor leave any mark of authorship on the page, so she was quite safe in the knowledge that seeing it would give Hermione no clues whatsoever, yet would serve to satiate her curiosity and divert the topic of conversation away from the decidedly uncomfortable subject of maternity knickers.

The parchment was an elegant white square that even felt expensive, with a green wax seal that bore an ambiguous and generic fleur-de-lis. The words on the parchment were few and were written in a standard and unremarkable Black ink:

We need to talk properly re: our previous discussion. Same time. Same Place.

Hermione looked a little chagrined for a moment before disguising her disappointment with great aplomb and returning with damnable tenacity to her previous speculations on maternity underwear.

After twenty cringeworthy minutes during which Hermione extolled the virtues of properly supporting the growing bump in the latter stages of pregnancy, and during which Ginny worried about why Hermione would know such things, Ginny excused herself to use the toilet, one of the only times that she was grateful for her vastly increased need to urinate.

What Hermione didn't know was that by 'Same time. Same Place,' Draco meant that he would meet her in a small furnished room in the dungeons that Slytherin prefects had been using for centuries as a place to entertain their illicit trysts, half an hour after the note was received.

As she hurried out of the hall, she saw Ron alternately glowering at her and shooting pointed looks at Harry. Sincerely hoping he wouldn't follow her, she was relieved when she reached the nearest bathroom unaccosted. If there was one thing she hated the most about the actual logistics of being pregnant, it was the dire and unpredictable consequences it was having on her necessary bodily functions. A month into the summer holidays when her lack of period and clearly identifiable morning sickness had forced her to consider the possibility that she might be pregnant, her first terrifying thoughts had been how to tell her family immediately followed by memories of every conversation in which her mother had ever mentioned the bone-wrenching, gut-tearing agony of childbirth. She had never even stopped to consider how uncomfortable it would be to have a person growing inside her, and her unabashed and rather loud sigh of relief when she finally shut herself in a cubicle and sat down prompted several uncomfortable coughs from other stall occupants. After washing her hands, she checked her watch and realised that she had five minutes to reach the dungeon room. Hurrying out of the bathroom, she came face-to-chest with Ron who had clearly been waiting for her.

"What do you want, Ron? I've got things to do."

"I was at a loose end and thought I'd accompany my sister to class - given her delicate condition." Ron was being suspiciously pleasant, especially after his display of temper in the hall not half an hour ago. Eyeing him shrewdly, she said, "Well I'm fine Ron, I don't need accompanying anywhere. Please leave me alone." With that, she began to walk away from him.

"Oh no you don't, Ginny, Hermione thinks you're going to meet Him."

Stopping in her tracks she turned back to him. "So what if I am? It's not like there's much more he can do to me, is there? Why do you care so much if I see him? I would have thought that him wanting to be involved was something to be encouraged, but you seem hell-bent on keeping me away from him and I think it's bloody stupid and pathetic."

"Oh no, Gin, you've got it all wrong. I'm not trying to stop you meeting him; I am trying to find out who he is. I owe him a 'brotherly talking-to'," Ron replied with an unpleasant smirk. "Did I or did I not tell you that I considered it my duty as a brother to avenge your honour?"

If she wasn't so blindingly frustrated by his interference, she would have laughed. He sounded so old-fashioned that the idea could only have come from her mother. Glancing at her watch, she saw that she was going to be late.

"Late for something, Gin?" Ron asked with maddening jocularity.

"Nothing that can't wait," she replied, raising her eyebrows at him and daring him to call her on it.

At that moment, Draco emerged from the dungeon corridor - he'd been waiting for her and watching the bathroom door. Seeing Ginny with her brother, he immediately grasped the situation and knew that they would have to find time to talk later. Curling his lips in a sneer at the Weasel's heavy-handed approach, he leaned against the wall, affecting nonchalance, to watch what would happen next. It was hopefully apparently obvious to any Slytherin that came past that he appeared to be waiting for Crabbe and Goyle to finish stuffing their faces, however seemingly not to the apoplectic Gryffindor idiot who saw him standing there and chose to transfer his merrily boiling bad mood away from his sister and onto 'innocent' bystanders.

Having become exasperated with Ginny who was currently wondering why Harry and Hermione hadn't appeared to drag Ron to class, Ron seemed to be in the mood to lash out stupidly and irrationally, and to Ginny's horror, he chose Draco, whom Ginny had not realised had been standing there.

"Enjoying the show, Malfoy? Ron spat.

Draco raised his eyebrows and examined the fingernails on his right hand with an air of amused boredom.

"Well, if you will insist on making a spectacle of yourself, Weasley..." he drawled.

"Ron, leave it," Ginny hissed, tugging on his arm. The last thing she needed was for Draco to lose his temper and say something revealing.

"Yes, Weasel-king, listen to the Weaslette and run along now. It's no fun exchanging insults with one of lesser wit. It'd be more entertaining to spar with your little sister."

The double meaning of Draco's words was not lost on Ginny and memories of their last sparring match and the subsequent retribution meted out by his dexterous fingers brought a blush to her cheeks.

Ron drew his wand, ignoring Ginny’s frantic tugging at his sleeve. Quite a crowd of curious spectators had begun to congregate in the hallway, and furious muttering broke out as to the likely outcome of this one-on-one between Ron and Malfoy. Usually whenever there was a magical confrontation between the Gryffindors and Slytherins, Ron was never alone, and everyone still referred to the only time Ron had hexed Malfoy alone as the 'Slug incident'.

"Think you're big and clever, do you, Malfoy? Threatening my sister makes you feel good does it? I suppose to Death Eater scum like you it'd be like killing two birds with one stone."

Ginny winced, and the hall went silent as the implications of Ron's insult filtered through their collective minds.

Draco raised a sceptical eyebrow, his gaze flickering between Ron and Ginny, who was struggling not to look at him. He chose his words carefully and paused for dramatic effect before saying "Despite what you may think of me, Weasley, I would never stoop so low as to hex a pregnant woman and for you to even voice such an opinion only further demonstrates your ignorance and narrow-mindedness." With that, Draco turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Ron red-faced and stammering in the wake of such an eloquent and publicly humiliating put-down. Even Professor McGonagall, who had stopped to observe the scene closely lest her intervention be required, was watching the retreat of the blond Slytherin with undisguised approval, and the mutterings of the surrounding students clearly demonstrated who had emerged on top out of that particular confrontation. Ginny felt an irrational surge of pride that Draco had so subtly delivered such a stinging insult and left Ron standing without wands having been drawn, rules disobeyed or anyone being hurt. It was, for lack of a better description, beautifully done.

With a scathing glare at the mortified Ron, she turned away from him to see Harry and Hermione watching them from across the hall. Hermione looked stricken, as though somehow Ron's humiliation was a shared burden. Harry, however, bore a thoughtful expression and she thought she detected the briefest hint of curious surprise flicker in his eyes. She was saved from having to speak to any of them, however, by Luna marching up and grabbing her arm. She was wearing an odd-looking necklace from which hung a few Muggle safety-pins, and her earrings, similarly adorned, were jangling as she walked.

"Come on, Ginny, we've got Herbology now," she said in a loud voice, "and Professor Sprout promised to help me plant those Defkangle seeds Daddy brought me back from his trip to inner Mongolia."

As Ginny was being rescued by Luna, she risked a backward glance and saw Draco stood at the top of the staircase. 'I'm sorry,' she mouthed silently, willing him to understand her, and just before the main door obscured her view, she thought she saw him nod in acknowledgment. Apologies seemed to dominate their relationship of late and as she followed Luna across the grounds towards the greenhouses, she couldn't help but wish that everything was back the way it had been before. Rubbing the small mound of her stomach, she fought back the tears as the traitorous thought entered her mind that she hoped she would miscarry. Before the thought was even fully formed in her mind, she was already rebelling against it and her whimpered cry of 'No' prompted curious glances from the surrounding students. She didn't want the baby to die, not really, she just wished desperately that it hadn't happened in the first place. Feeling sick and miserable, she trudged into the greenhouse and squeezed through the throng of students, trying to ignore the pointed staring of her classmates as her gently rounded abdomen made slithering into a space unobtrusively near-impossible to accomplish.

---

As Draco ascended the staircase away from the pitiful scene with Ron Weasley, he couldn't help but smirk in self-congratulation. Not only had he delivered a blistering put-down, but he had managed to publicly embarrass the red-headed fool without risking Ginny's ire by hexing her brother. His satisfied mood only lasted until he reached the top of the staircase and turned back to watch how the rest of the scene would unfold. Ginny was being forcibly dragged towards the front doors by that ditzy blonde girl she seemed to be friends with, and Potter was glaring at him in a disconcerting way. Hatred, revulsion, spite, malice or anger he could have handled with a sardonic sneer, but the curious expression was unsettling, and Malfoys didn't like to be unsettled. Turning away from the compelling force of Potter's gaze, he bumped into Professor Snape, who was also eyeing him speculatively and flickering his gaze between Draco, the 'Golden Trio' and Ginny and the blonde.

With a mumbled apology, Draco sidestepped the potions master and continued up the stairs. It was only after he'd climbed three moving staircases and walked along six corridors that he stopped to catch his breath. He wasn't sure how or why, but it always seemed as though Snape knew what you were thinking, and he felt an inexplicable surge of guilt and shame when he thought about Snape knowing about Ginny and the baby. Come to think of it, whenever he thought about Ginny and the baby, he was treated to these unaccustomed feelings. When he lay in bed at night, listening to the snores of his dorm-mates and thinking about all the implications and ramifications of his impending fatherhood, he couldn't help but wish that it didn't exist.

Not that he wanted her to kill it, obviously, but things would be so much easier if this wasn't happening. He was losing sleep over this whole business, and when he did finally manage to drift into a doze at about three in the morning, his sleep was fitful and punctuated with dreams of Ginny underneath him, her face gasping and rapturous. He usually woke sweating profusely and with an aching hard-on that took a good fifteen minutes to dispel. He was desperate for her, aching to hold her the way he used to, but now because of the baby, everything was so much more complicated. He wanted to make love to her, to kiss her, touch her and taste her, but he was afraid she'd push him away, afraid he'd somehow hurt the fragile life she carried inside. He was so frustrated and confused and his mind was walking itself around in circles; Did he love her? Did she love him? Could they cope with the burdens thrust upon them?

He knew that if the child was a girl, he would have no obligations other than moral ones. If it was a girl, would he, could he abandon her to single-motherhood? The fact that he was even considering it brought fresh waves of remorse. If the child was a boy, then it was already magically bound into the position of heir, whether he was married to the mother or not - that was why there was so much importance placed upon pureblood marriages. It was why conception charms and aids were so frequently employed by families to ensure that the single night of consummation required of the most often arranged marriages would be fruitful and produce an heir quickly, thus safeguarding the family estates and monies from the spawn of illicit liaisons. He also knew that if the child was a girl, they would have time in which to make decisions and plans, but if it was a boy, then all would have to be revealed, because it wouldn't be long before the child's name appeared on various magically endowed and legally binding documents. The name would also appear on the family tapestries too, but only after the naming ceremony, when certain spells and enchantments related to bloodline would be invoked.

It was all so complicated. He didn't want to have to deal with this. If only he'd kept his cock in his pants, none of this would have happened. Perhaps if you'd not fucked a Weasley, none of this would have happened. With a sigh, he tipped his head back against the wall and tried not to dwell, once again, on how their contraception had failed. The fact was that it had, and until such time as he was forced into making a decision about whether to stick by her or abandon her, he was doomed to suffer these eternally tormenting cycles of thought.