FicWad

Title: Falling, Failing, Flying

Author: Ageless Drake

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairings: past Harry/Draco, past Harry/Ron; Ron/Draco

Spoilers: for all the books published so far

Author's Notes: Hopefully I'm not the only one who noticed that MPregs rarely happen to Ron! evil Well, I figured that if there was going to be MPreg, I might as well make it as weird and perverse as possible. So here's my go.

Oh, and the whole "Half Blood Prince" thing applies: Snape killed Dumbledore; Fenrir attacked Bill, and he married Fluer; Harry went out with Ginny, but broke up with her, and also decided not to go back to school. This takes place POST death of Voldemort though (hypothetical post-7th book), so Draco's a relatively-speaking good guy.

Warnings: het, slash, language, mpreg


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Prologue:

Ron Weasley stared, mouth hanging loosely agape, at the mediwitch. Surely she'd said that wrong, or mixed up her information, or something that would explain the complete shite that had just poured from her mouth.

But the mediwitch remained stoic in her statement, though there was a sudden bit of color just below her eyes. Beside him, Hermione Granger gabbed her jaw wordlessly, while Harry Potter did his narrow best to not burst into hysterical laughter.

Well then. Harry would be the first to die.

"Come again?" Ron muttered, and was loathe to admit that his voice was quite high and squeaky. Harry snorted--actually /snorted/--and turned away for a moment to compose himself while Ron glared. The mediwitch shuffled a bit, and then cleared her throat.

"I'm not quite sure how you've managed it, boy, but it's true. You're pregnant."

"That's impossible," Hermione interjected. She flushed quiet brilliantly as she continued, "He hasn't got the . . . bits."

"I am quite aware, Miss Granger, that Mr Weasley is not in the possession of a uterus--" Everyone flushed darkly in embarrassment--"but the fact remains that Mr Weasley is pregnant."

Ron grumbled under his breath, and tried to remember who's brilliant idea it had been to come to St Mungo's in the first place. Probably Hermione's. She'd be the second to die then.

It was true: he hadn't been feeling well the pace few weeks, and woken up quite a few days to a foul stomach that put him off food for most of the day. He'd honestly thought he'd caught the flu or something, but there'd been no signs of a fever; perhaps just the stomach flu then. But, nevertheless, Hermione--or whoever had convinced him to go down to St. Mungo's--had said he should get checked up, just in case it was some serious illness that could potentially become worse.

It had become 'potentially' worse. Very potentially.

Even he didn't know how he'd managed it. It didn't make any sense, obviously. As Hermione and the mediwitch had both said, he wasn't exactly in possession of the proper anatomy to become pregnant. And even if he was, that would mean he would have had to have slept with a guy; the idea made him shudder slightly, and shake his head.

Absently, some little part of him wondered how this would effect his Quiddich. He mentally slapped that little voice, and sent it off to sit in a corner.

He'd make a horrible mother. That thought made him visibly twitch. Harry, who seemed to pick up on the thought, burst into that hysterical laughter that he'd been saving up. Ron made a lunge at him, but Hermione held him back, grunting as flying elbows and hands hit her.

"I see the estrogen hasn't kicked in yet," the mediwitch grumbled offhandedly. Ron finally settled back with a huff; Harry was still laughing at him. "Well, I'll leave you lot alone then. It seems you've got a bit to talk about."

She hurried out of the room as though the very dogs of hell were snapping at her. Ron sulked against the bed pillows, and grumbled angrily to himself, plotting the best way to do away with Harry, who was wiping tears from his eyes.

Hermione spoke first.

"You could always get an abortion." Harry and Ron both stared at her incredulously, though the former was still having trouble stifling his giggles.

"How would I look, walking into a Muggle clinic, asking for an abortion? They'd shut me away!" Hermione looked confused, and then thoughtful.

"They don't have a clinic for Witches?"

"Damned if I know! I'm not in a habit of reading up on what you witches do when you don't want to have children." The bushy-haired girl sighed a little, and tapped her chin. Ron looked vengeful. "So help me, Merlin, Hermione. If you go looking for one--"

"No, no," she assured, but then added, "I was just thinking that there must be some book that talks about male pregnancy."

"Obviously not, or they'd have a ward for them, now wouldn't they?" Ron waved around at the brightly feminine maternity ward he'd been hustled into after his check up--his first sign that something was amiss. Harry stifled a laugh again.

"Ah, Ronnie-kins! Aren't you looking forward to being a mum?"

"Wanna come a little closer and say that?"

Hermione broke in again with, "So, who's the father?" Ron blinked owlishly, and looked at her as though she'd said something absolutely scandalous. She waited patiently, her hands tucked into her lap.

He flushed slightly. This was like admitting he'd cheated on her or something, which he most assuredly hadn't, though that didn't explain the small problem of him being pregnant. Feverishly, he tried to remember what had happened in the last few weeks that would cause this rather major slip-up.

He came up with nothing, and hung his head with a groaned sob.

"I'm a freak. Not only am I pregnant, but I'm asexually pregnant too! Well, at least I don't have to tell mum that her pregnant son is a pouf as well."

"You're not a pouf, Ron," Harry uttered, almost soothingly. Ron glared at him, knowing there was a catch to that statement. Sure enough, Harry managed through sudden laughter, "You're another daughter."

"Harry, be considerate," Hermione snapped, slapping Harry on the shoulder a couple of times. The dark haired youth removed his glasses and wiped his eyes, waving a non-apologetic hand as he worried away that set of laughter as well. Hermione offered a little smile to Ron, and patted his hand.

Her next statement made Ron seethe: "We wouldn't think any less of you if you--"

"So you think this makes me a pouf?" he demanded harshly, staring at her incredulously. "I don't know how this happened, but whether or not I'm pregnant, I'm not sleeping with blokes!"

The last was said a little too loudly. A casual passerby--presumably off to see his wife--turned and stared at their little group for a moment. Ron made a vulgar hand motion and cursed brilliantly at the man's back as he hurried away, before he huffed, and collapsed against the pillows again, obviously distraught. Hermione tried to soothe him, mostly unsuccessfully.

"Everything will be all right," she reassured finally. It seemed the best thing to say at the time. And then she stood and left, informing the two boys that she was off to see what she could find out about clinics and male pregnancies.

Harry stayed by Ron's beside, and for a moment was silent. Ron glared at him through half-lowered lids, and finally spoke.

"Do you want to tell her, or should I?"

"She's your girlfriend. You do what you--"

"Hermione and I were never together, Harry." The younger wizard grumbled a little towards his hands. All his mirth seemed suddenly sapped, now that Hermione was gone. Ron slowly, awkwardly reached a hand out and touched his friend's tightly clasped, white-knuckled hands. "She has to know though."

"I know that," Harry whispered. "I know that. But how do you explain something like this?"

"You preface it with, 'I'm a sick pervert'," Ron growled. Harry gave him a pointedly little look, and then leered jokingly.

"You didn't object." He shrugged slightly, and removed his hand, tucking both behind his head and leaning back slightly. He looked down at his stomach, and scowled a little bit. At least there was no danger of Voldemort this time around.

"How'd this work, anyway? You'd think that coming out of that would make it . . . you know . . . fix itself. No eggs, no baby. Right?"

"We did it more than once, remember?" Did he ever. It wasn't a bad memory. Just one he didn't want to think about too much. Ron suddenly glared over at Harry, scowling dangerously.

"This is all your fault, you know. And you were /in a relationship/, too!" Harry nodded slowly, admitting defeat without having to say it. Ron nodded as well, though the look in his eyes told he wasn't satisfied. He continued, obviously with the intent to hurt: "So who else did you ply your wicked vices on behind my sister's back?"

"Ron, please don't start--"

"I heard a rumor about you and the Ferret. That ever true?"

"Ron--"

"Or was it just me who you wanted to see as a woman? Not even a very attractive one. I don't know how you managed to make it work like that, but my, you have some odd tastes in--"

"Will you shove it? I don't want to hear about! I know I'm a little bizarre, and I'm sorry that this happened, but I don't want you dumping all this guilt on me, just because you're repressing your sexuality so much that you've convinced yourself you're straight and narrow!"

The words hung, loud and slightly ringing, for a few tense moments. Ron turned his face away from Harry, feeling tears sting his eyes; that wouldn't do. He was still a man, and men didn't cry, even in front of their best friends. Harry was silent a moment, then began to make apologetic sounds, which Ron coldly rebuffed.

There was a soft, defeated sigh. Ron heard Harry push the chair back, stand, and walk out of the maternity ward.

A ward Ron had never thought he'd see the inside of on a firsthand basis.
~
It took two days before St Mungo was able to contact Bill and Fluer. They rushed over to the ward as soon as they heard, though they obviously hadn't been told the full story.

Fluer had seen much of the maternity since her and Bill's wedding, and it looked as though she'd be seeing it fairly soon once more, if the size of her belly were any judge. His brother and sister-in-law settled into the chairs beside his bed, and he explained, slowly and unsurely, what had happened, leaving out the knowledge of the father and a few other, more personal items of interest.

Fluer looked thoughtful through the whole story, and spoke when Ron indicated he was done with a put-upon expression.

"It is not rare, but uncommon; some male-born Veela can become childbaring."

"Ron's got no Veela in him though, Fluer," Bill pointed out easily, carefully not looking at his brother. But when their eyes met, Ron saw the same humor he had seen in Harry's eyes before Hermione had left.

"Don't you start. I've put up with enough from Harry and Hermione, and I don't need you to start at it too!"

"It wasn't that, Ronnie, I swear," Bill stated in an unconvincing voice. He chuckled a bit, and then continued, "But Charlie will be happy to hear he's not the only pouf in the family."

"I'm not a pouf!" Ron cried indignantly, and crossed his arms over his chest. Fluer cooed slightly, pecking a kiss to her brother-in-law's brow before shooting a cold-hearted glare at her husband; he made an objecting sound, but then she was gone, saying something about getting the young parent-to-be something to drink.

Bill sighed slightly, and slipped into her vacated seat, bringing himself closer to Ron. He flicked a few strands of bright ginger hair out of his brother's face, and huffed again, pulling back to mess with his earring absently.

"Do you know who--" Ron nodded. Bill let loose a strained little chuckle. "That's a relief. If mum knew about this--"

"She'd have thrown a fit knowing I was having sex when I wasn't serious about it," Ron pointed out, finally looking over at his older brother, saying, "Look what she did to Charlie." Bill smiled slightly in reminiscence, before looking away a moment, seeming a bit awkward.

"You're not--? I mean to say . . . are you going to raise the kid, if you have it?" Ron thought about for a moment, before shrugging slightly.

"I don't see why I couldn't. Mum raised all of us, after all. And I don't see why--"

"Mum had Dad," Bill pointed out. Ron scowled a little, and looked down at his hands as though it was their fault this was happening to him. "I'm not saying you shouldn't raise the child, Ron," Bill continued slowly, "just saying that . . . maybe you should look at all your options."

"Hermione is looking into abortion options for me," he uttered slowly. Bill looked surprised, and rubbed the back of his head absently, tugging on the leather tie that held his hair back.

"Well, yes, that's one option. I was talking more of when you deliver, your options then--"

"Maybe I don't want to deliver," Ron growled, glaring at Bill. "Maybe I don't want to end up like Ginny--"

"That's unfair, Ronald," Bill snapped, glaring right back, his nervous habits falling away. Ron looked away, crossing his arms over his chest. There was a moment of silence, and than Bill sighed again, touching Ron's arm. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not saying that Ginny's a bad mum," Ron put in slowly, "just that she's always having so much trouble because nobody will help her out, and I don't want to end up like that: single working mum in a run down flat, trying to make off as a Muggle half the week and a Witch--Wizard . . . for the rest of the time."

Bill gave Ron a curt little look, and shook his head, then shrugged.

"It's your kid--"

"I never asked for it to show up. Now, shut up and be nice to me; I'm pregnant." The statement felt weird, coming out of his mouth, though he'd heard it time and again from his sister's and sister-in-laws'. Bill chuckled a little bit, and by then, Fluer was returning with water in little transparent plastic cups.

They talked idly--turned out Fluer was having another set of twins, which made Bill smile and her frown down at her belly a little--but soon they had to return to their own little monsters. With brief good-bye kisses, they promised to stop by later.

It was a phrase he'd heard to many times from his own mouth towards Ginny. He sulked a little, and barely touched the food that a nurse brought him a few hours later, though he picked up a magazine that had been left at his bedside before he'd even shown up.

"Well, well, well. So Granger isn't talking out of her arse for once. Who would have though it?"

Ron sighed, and looked over at the man addressing him, snarling under his breath. He carefully half-hid behind the magazine detailing how to live a single-parent working lifestyle.

"What do you want?"

"Can't I come visit you when you're not feeling well, cousin? Or are we still on that same old fight?"

"What do you think?" They exchanged a sharp glare, but the new guest simply sighed after a beat, and waved a hand absently. He drew from his cloak a small slip of paper, and dropped it before Ron's page. "What's this?"

"The name of a doctor friend. He's confidential, trustworthy. If you chose to go to him, just tell him I recommended him, and he'll look at you no charge--"

"He's Muggle, isn't he? Otherwise he'd be here." His guest looked aghast that such an accusation should be laid on him. Ron's expression demanded and spoke of the seriousness of the situation.

"He runs a clinic in Edinburgh," he stated with a soft chuckle, "and he's a good man, Muggle or not."

"And why, may I ask, did you know about him." A pointed gaze exchanged, and Ron flushed, knowing he'd asked the wrong question. His guest chuckled slightly, and tapped his chin.

"Did you honestly think that you were the only one Potter had a fling with?"

"So you--"

"/Merlin/, no. I just wasn't entirely sure we were safe about it, is all. How was I to know how many times he'd done that." Ron flushed; it didn't seem right to be talking about Harry behind his back, even when it somewhat concerned him, though indirectly. His guest offered a soft, rueful little smile, and gently touched his shoulder. "It's just an offer, Weasley. If you don't take up on it, that's your choice. But please. While we're still young?"

"I'll think about it."

"That's the spirit. Well, I'm pressing my break as it is. I'll see you around? Hopefully not in such a state as you are now." He waved off the other man, frowning down at the card he held. There was an airy, smart laugh somewhere above his head, sounding distant, and then he was alone again, caught between an offer he could almost not refuse, and an ideal presented to him on glossy pages that slipped between his fingers.