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.
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.
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