Title: Paternity

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Draco/Ron Ron/Harry

Type of Fiction: Challenge response, to 'Impregnate Ron Weasley' challenge by roses_are_a_weed.

Requirements: Ron gets knocked up, preferrably by Harry or Draco. Ron is -not- painfully stupid. Draco is "evil, or at least nasty, not all "Daddy does very naughty things to me, so I have to surpress my emotions, oh looky I'm going to go cry all over Potter" No Draco/Lucius incest. And last, but not least, a happy ending. Will do.

Summary: Not everyone at Hogwarts is going home for the summer holidays.

Archive: Yes to all, but for anything other than list archives, please tell me, give credit, and list a my email address for feedback.

Feedback: poet77665@yahoo.com

MPreg Archive: http://www.blooddance.com/mpreg

Rating: NC17

Disclaimer: I do not own the recognizable media characters presented in this story. I have no
official agreement with the owners or creators of said characters. I make no profit from this work. It is strictly for entertainment purposes. The actions of the characters in this story are in no way meant to reflect on the personal lives of the actors who portrayed them.

Authors notes: I'm new to writing this fandom, though I've been a fan of the books and movies for some time (Go, Snape!). I'll be doing my best, so be gentle in pointing out my shortcomings on canon. I'm going to be referencing a lot of Potter information sites in trying to keep slips to a minimum.

Series/Sequel: Not now, but I never know when a series will strike.

Warnings: I will place warnings on each chapter as is necessary.

Notes: Blog's speech eccentricities are on purpose. form--a British school grade. Harry, Ron, Draco, Hermione, Crabbe, and Goyle are all Fourth Form (Year), making them all sixteen or seventeen. Definitions and Latin translations: gelu--frost, chill. crystallus--a crystal drinking cup, the closest I could find to glass. These are taken from http://sunsite.ubc.ca/LatinDictionary/, an online translator. kow-tow: To show servile deference. Sweet--dessert: a course or dish of sweet food served at or near the end of a meal. Sommelier--a specialist wine waiter or steward. Vodun--official name for voodoo. gannet--a greedy person.

Paternity
By Scribe

Part One: Stuck

Lucius Malfoy stared down his nose at his only son. Scorn dripped from his voice as he said coldly, "Once again you disappoint me, Draco."

Draco crossed his arms, scowling. "I tell you it wasn't my -fault- ! I can't help it if those idiots Crabbe and Goyle managed to get themselves caught trying to sabotage the Gryffindors' brooms before the final Quidditch match. We'd have won the house cup if those two hadn't..."

They were in a tiny private room at the back of The Hog's Head. Lucius felt that the establishment was far below his standards, but he hadn't wanted to go to Hogwarts, or patronize The Three Broomsticks. In those two places there was always the chance that he'd run into Dumbledore, Potter, or one of those irritating rusty- haired Weasley wastes. There never seemed to be an end to them.

Lucius paced angrily. He hadn't taken off his cape, and it swirled about him every time he made a turn--which was often, given the room's tiny dimensions. "Excuses, Draco, and shoddy ones at that. Crabbe and Goyle are your creatures--they obey you. As a Malfoy, you must be sure of your minions. You must take responsibility for their failures if you wish to take responsibility for their successes."

Draco's scowl deepened. *Right. I didn't notice you scrambling to take the blame the last time one of -your- plots fell through.* He didn't voice the thought. His father liked to think of himself as a civilized man, but Draco knew from first hand experience that his temper could be volatile--if he believed that the object of his anger couldn't fight back. Instead of saying what he was thinking, Draco responded, "Well, what do you want from me? They're the best of a bad lot. None of the junior boys have the physical presence of Crabbe and Goyle. They might be dregs when it comes to magic, and thick as pavingstones, but they can certainly knock heads, and they enjoy their work. As for the senior boys..." The corner of Draco's finely chiseled upper lip lifted in a sneer that was familiar to every Gryffindor, "they enjoy power politics as much as we, Father. None of them are willing to place themselves under my hand, though a few have offered me the position of toady."

Lucius' eyes flashed. He was, as usual, carrying his totally unnecessary walking stick, and his knuckles tightened on the silver head till they were white. He hissed, "No son of mine will kow-tow to one who has not yet earned our lord's Dark Mark! If you were sufficiently forceful you could win them to your side, Draco. Damn it, boy, you're my son! When I was your age I had a circle of useful allies under my influence, and what have you managed? Two near imbeciles, with nothing to recommend them but their pure blood, brute strength, and blind obedience. Granted, those are all good qualities, but they -aren't enough-! You need to draw to your side people who are brave, cunning, and powerful."

Draco had a temper to match his father's and it was rising. He decided to aim for one of his father's sore points. He drawled, "Maybe I should try to seduce Potter."

His barb struck home. Lucius froze, his normally fair features going pale. His hand slid down to grip his cane by the middle, then he jerked it up, ready to strike. Draco didn't try to evade whatever was coming, just quickly turned his shoulder to his father, presenting a less vulnerable target. Lucius caught himself. Instead of hitting his son, he thoughtfully tapped the head of the cane in his palm, glowering at Draco. Finally, his expression grim, he lowered it to his side. "Careful, Draco. You're fast approaching the point where your youth won't protect you."

He crossed to a chair and sat, his movements unconsciously graceful. There was a small brass bell on the table beside him, and he rang it. After a moment a harried looking house elf appeared before him, bowing and scraping. "Yus, yus, what can Blog do for the gentleman? He wants food? He wants drink?" Blog glanced at the sullen, white- haired boy pouting nearby and said slyly, "He wants a room for an hour or two?"

Lucius whacked the elf on the head with his cane, eliciting a thump and a yelp. "He wants you to shut your blathering sink hole of a mouth and listen! Is there anything potable in this pestilent excuse for a pub?"

The elf looked confused. "We can bring Sir ale in a pot if he wishes, but..."

This time Lucius rapped the creature's bare toes. "Drinkable, you nit! Is there anything I can choke down without endangering my health? Do you have wine?"

House elves were very limber, and while Lucius spoke, Blog had raised the injured foot up to his face, and was sucking his toes. When Lucius finished his speech, though, the elf quickly came to attention. "Oh, yus Sir, yus! We has much nice wine! We has thistle berry, alligator pear--has quite a snap to it, has that one..." Lucius scowled at this feeble attempt at humor, tapping his cane on the floor. Blog cleared his throat and continued. "We has horse apple, and we has dandelion-chickweed." His chest puffed out with pride of his establishment. "All fresh, Sir. Not one more than two weeks old."

Lucius covered his eyes for a moment. "Bring me a glass of water-- chilled."

The house elf was nodding, eager to be away. "Yus, Sir! One water."

Lucius' cane came down on its shoulder--not striking, but holding firmly. "And make sure the glass is clean."

"Yus, Sir! One water, special order." He disappeared.

Once the elf was gone, Lucius crossed his legs, laying the cane across the arms of the chair. "What shall I do with you, Draco?" Draco shrugged. "You know that these shortcomings can't be allowed to go unpunished."

"Make me leave the table before the sweet is served for a month?"

Lucius' eyes narrowed. "Sarcasm is not in your best interest right now."

The house elf reappeared, offering a small tray bearing a sparkling clean tumbler of water, the outside of the glass delicately laced with frost. Draco could picture the elf frantically running about, trying to get someone to cast a Gelu Crystallus spell to achieve that effect. Lucius, with his usual appreciation, snapped, "I suppose I'm supposed to freeze my fingers?" The elf babbled something, disappeared, and reappeared with a napkin wrapped around the glass. Lucius picked it up, examined it critically, sniffed it, and took an experimental sip. He rolled it over his tongue, as if it was wine, and he was considering ripping into the sommelier. Finally he gave a grudging nod, and Blog disappeared in a twinkle.

Lucius continued sipping, watching Draco. Draco folded his arms and waited. Lucius was deciding on his punishment, and any interruptions would just add to it. Finally Lucius said, "Your mother and I leave for Monte-Carlo next week."

*Maybe he's finally decided to be decent.* "I want to check out the Muggle style of gambling. I know that the legal age is eighteen, but I'm seventeen now, and it shouldn't be too hard to whip up some convincing papers."

"Yes, well, perhaps you can borrow some Muggle books about it from Granger. I said that your mother and I would be goin. I said nothing about you."

"What?" Draco was aghast. "You can't mean to make me stay home all summer."

"No, indeed. You are to remain at Hogwarts over the summer holiday. I'll send Dumbledore an owl when I get home."

"That's unfair!" Draco's voice was rising in volume, and pitch. He caught himself before it became falsetto. He'd waited long enough for it to drop into adult register, and he wouldn't give his father the satisfaction of seeing him so enraged and disappointed that he squeaked.

"Draco, consider this--you COULD spend the Christmas holidays here, also. And the Easter. And all holidays until you graduate."

Draco chewed his lip, glaring at his father, but the threat was not empty. His shoulders slumped a little, and his father's self- satisfied little smile made him hate the man just a that much more. "Huh. Well, at least I won't have to worry about dealing with Potter and Weasley for three months."

~~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~~

Ron Weasley slumped deeper into a chair in the Gryffindor common room, staring at the unrolled scroll in his hand. Pigwidgeon was hopping around the table before him, twittering busily. Ron didn't even look up when the little owl picked open a packet of Famous Witches and Wizards Cards. Harry, sitting on the other side of the table, watched at Pigwidgeon ate the Chocolate Frog that sprang out, and began hopping about even more madly. "Ron, Pig is into you candy." No response. "Ron!"

"It's bloody unfair, that's what it is," Ron mumbled.

"You know how Pig is. You shouldn't leave your candy lying about when he's loose."

"Not that, Harry--this!" Ron shook the parchment angrily. "My Mum sent it back with Pig."

"You look like someone's kicked your dog. Is it bad news?"

"It's horrible! I'm marooned, forsaken, betrayed!"

"You're melodramatic. What is it that's gotten your knickers in a twist?"

That brought Ron slightly out of his funk, as Harry had known it would. "Stop it, Harry, this is serious." He took a deep breath. "I'm not to go home for the holidays."

Harry sat forward, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose. "Why not?"

"Because my father is being sent to Haiti for the entire summer to learn about Vodun."

Harry frowned. "Your father investigates the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. Why are they sending him to learn about Vodun?"

Ron threw down the paper. "Because his supervisor is planning on taking a cruise this summer, and -someone- has to go. They sweetened the deal for Dad by offering to pay for Mum to go along. That's just brilliant for them, but it bollocks up my summer."

Harry smiled. "Language, Ron! What would your Mum say?"

"Nothing, because she won't hear, because I WON'T BLOODY BE AROUND HER, WILL I? Mum and Dad are off to tropical climes. Bill, Charlie, and Percy have moved out on their own. Fred and George are boarding away while they're interning with the Capers and Japes Novelty Company, Hermione invited Ginny to spend the summer with her, and I'm stuck here." His anger melted into distress, and he almost wailed, "None of the other Gryffindors are staying, and there won't be more than a dozen or so from the other houses. I'll die of loneliness."

Harry felt a twinge of sympathy for his friend. He himself was used to solitude. The Dursleys excluded him whenever possible, and Harry had never wanted to seek their company, but it was different for Ron. The Weasleys were a big, boisterous, loving clan. They might squabble, but they were very close, and with his elder brothers attending Hogwarts before him, Ron had never been separated from family for long. Harry realized that the prospect of being far from the secure womb of his family for over three months was frightening for Ron, though he'd never admit it. *He'll cop to irritation or anger, but he thinks he's too grown up to hurt from missing his family.*

Harry looked at his friend's miserable face and came to a decision. "Would it help if I stayed over, too?"

Ron looked up in surprise. "But you don't have to, Harry."

"Of course I don't, you silly git. Don't you think I'd rather spend the summer here, in comfort, with my best friend, rather than be the Dursleys' whipping boy?"

Hope tinged Ron's voice. "Can you?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't see why not. The only reason that Uncle Vernon would say no would be if he thought I really, really wanted it. I'll ask Dumbledore to phrase the request so that it sounds like it's his idea, but I'm really pining to be home, and my uncle will send back a reply in a shot, explaining how he couldn't possibly have me home over the summer."

"That would be smashing, Harry. We'll have all day to do whatever we like. I've heard that summer residents can do chores to earn pocket money, and we could just splurge in Hogsmeade every week." Ron was looking quite cheerful. He chuckled. "I can't wait to tell Fred and George. They'll turn pea green."

"Right. Well, I'd best go talk to Dumbledore. I don't know how he's going to contact the Dursleys. I've never sent Hedwig there, and I'm certainly not going to now. Dudley got a pellet gun for Christmas."

As Harry left the room to seek out Dumbledore, Ron got parchment from a stack on the table, grabbed a quill, and was began to compose his letter home. Pigwidgeon had given up on trying to fly or walk, and was lying on his back, feet in the air, bouncing.

~~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~~

Graduation was over. Nearly all the lower form students had gone home the day before, but Hogwarts had been crammed with the friends and families of the graduating students. *It was like a poxy stirred up ant hill,* thought Draco sourly. He was sitting in the dining hall at one end of one of the Slytherin tables, poking disinterestedly at the assortment of cakes and bon-bons he'd demanded from one of the house elves. The creature had tried to protest that 'it will spoil young Sir's dinner, so it will', till Draco had picked it up by its large ears and shaken it.

A Slytherin boy stuck his head into the dining hall. Draco recognized him as Daggett Beanstone, one of the ones who'd just received his diploma. He looked around, spotted Draco, and strolled over with elaborate casualness. "Hullo, Malfoy. Mind if I join you?"

Draco cocked one fair eyebrow. Daggett wasn't the sort to waste words on a lower form boy. *He wants something.* Draco tilted his chin toward the chair beside him. "Have a seat." As Daggett sat down, Draco said, "I thought you'd be gone by now."

"Tomorrow. Dad doesn't like to travel at night, and it would be three-bloody-AM before we got home if we left now. We'll toddle off tomorrow sometimes around tenish. I hear you'll be staying over the holidays."

"Good news travels fast," said Draco dryly.

"Malfoy..." Daggett glanced around, not bothering to hide the fact that he was scanning for listeners. "I was wondering if you'd be interested in doing me a little favor." He paused.

"I'm listening."

"You're good at, um, acquiring things, aren't you?"

Draco nodded silently. When he was twelve, during a trip with his father to Knockturn Alley, he'd seen a Hand of Glory in Borgin & Burkes, and coveted it. His father, wrapped up in disposing of a few items that would have been very hard to explain to the Ministry of Magic, had refused Draco's demands. Draco had never ceased to lobby for the Hand, and last Christmas his mother had broken down and bought it for him--secretly. With the Hand of Glory, Draco could move about the darkened campus without a light showing to give him away. It made 'acquiring' things rather easy.

"I'd like you to get something from the greenhouse for me."

"Why can't you get it yourself? Sprout is there now, busy getting everything settled for the summer so that the elves can tend to things without causing a massive die-off."

"You see, Malfoy, I'm afraid that Sprout wouldn't be exactly eager to hand over what I'm thinking of. In fact, she's got it hidden inside a locked cupboard."

Now Draco was curious. "What is it?"

"Just some seeds. She's gotten a grant from the Department of Magical Agriculture to experiment back in her home garden this summer, trying to grow some hybrids. She'll be taking them with her when she leaves tomorrow, so they have to be gotten tonight."

"If she intends to take them away tomorrow, they'll be missed. I'm not going to have something go missing when I'm one of the few suspects around."

"No, it won't be like that, Malfoy--not if you're careful. You see, I don't want -all- of them--two or three will do. She'll never miss them out of a bag of seeds, will she?"

Draco considered this. "And what's in this for me?"

"Two galleons." Draco stared at him. "Three." Draco continued to stare. "Damn, Malfoy, I never thought you for a gannet."

"I'm not, Beanstone, but you seem to be gagging for whatever this is, and since I'm the only one who can get it for you, you ought to be ready to pay my price."

Daggett eyed Draco shrewdly. He laid a hand on Draco's thigh and purred, "And what would that be?"

Draco smirked. "Not that. No, Beanstone, all I want is a favor in return."

"What sort?"

"I don't know yet. If I get you what you want, you'll owe me. I'll collect when I feel it's time."

Daggett bit his lip, studying Draco. It wasn't a good idea to owe a Malfoy, but Draco was right--he didn't know of any other way he could get what he wanted. "All right."

"Where, exactly, is this stuff, and what is it?"

"It's in the middle cabinet at the back of the greenhouse, bottom section. It's in a heavy canvas bag, with Sprout's name on it, and the initials SL." He stood up. "I'll be staying with Dad in Hogsmeade tonight, but I'm purposefully leaving a pair of cufflinks here. I'll be back to pick them up before breakfast, and you can give me the seeds then. Be sure to wear gloves at all times."

"Why? Are the seeds corrosive? Are they poisonous?" The idea that he might be illicitly acquiring poison for someone else didn't bother Draco much, except as it concerned his own safety.

"No, not as such." Daggett got up and began to leave.

"Wait--what do they do?"

Daggett smiled nastily. "You'll find out your senior year." Whistling jauntily, he left the room.

Part Two: Collision

Harry sighed. "I was really looking forward to visiting with Hagrid."

"Yeah, well, Charlie offered to let him help out with the dragons for the summer, and Hagrid would find a way to break a petrifaction spell to get to a Romanian Horntail."

"Truer words were never spoken."

They ate quietly for a few moments, Ron's eyes darting around the echoing hall as he chewed. Finally he said, "It's spooky."

Nearly Headless Nick popped up through the table, just before Harry and Ron. "Of course it is, young Weasley. We'd hardly be doing our job if it wasn't, would we?"

"I don't think that's what he means, Nick," said Harry. "He means that it just doesn't seem right for this place to be so empty and quiet, without at least a hundred students mucking about and making noise."

"Oh. Quite right." Nick disappeared.

Ron glanced over toward the Slytherin side of the room. There was a half-dozen Slytherins sitting together at the end of their table. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were completely empty. "You would know that the only others staying over would be Slytherins."

Harry helped himself to pudding. "I think it's that their families are going abroad, and weren't too keen on having the younger members along. Draco's the oldest left, and he's seriously brassed off about it."

"That's one of Malfoy's native states, isn't it? I'm a bit surprised he's here, though. I don't remember them ever leaving him behind before, and he was going on about going to Monte-Carlo. He bragged he was going to get into the casino and find a way to wizard the roulette wheel, then wouldn't it be a lark to break the bank, since Muggle money is no use to him except to wipe his arse. Smug git."

"Yeah. He might not have any use for it, but flaunting the ability to waste something others need so badly is just foul." Harry glanced over at Malfoy again, and frowned. "He's looking pleased with himself, and he ought to pout at least three or four days over being exiled here for the holidays. I wonder what he's up to?"

"Who cares? Without Crabbe and Goyle about, we ought to be able to handle him. So, what do we have planned for our first night? Raid the restricted books section of the library? Try to sneak into one of the other common rooms? Search Hagrid's cottage and see if he actually has -recopies- for those horrors he cooks?"

"I don't know about you, but -I- plan on crawling into bed right after supper and sleeping either until I finally wake up, or someone comes looking for me because they think I'm dead."

"Harry!"

"I'm serious, Ron. I've hardly slept the last week because I was studying to all hours for my Potions final. Hermione was my tutor, and you -know- what a slave driver she is." He stretched. "Add to that all the extra training for Quidditch since there was a rumor that a scout from the Chudley Cannons was going to be at the final match. I'm knackered."

Ron sighed heavily. "Bollocks."

"Are you sure you'd want to go roaming about? Filch isn't going anywhere, and he'd love to catch us somewhere we shouldn't be."

"Don't I know it. Maybe he'll ease up a bit on the patrolling, though. After all, fewer students--fewer chances someone will be up to something."

"Don't bet on it. He -lives- to get us in trouble."

Over at the Slytherin table, Pansy Parkinson leaned toward Draco. "They're talking about us."

Draco spared a glance at the two Gryffindors. "Of course they are." He smirked. "We're the only things worth talking about in their dreary lives."

Pansy returned the smirk. "This should be a highlight in their year. After all, the Weasley hovel must be like a rabbit warren, and Potter lives with -Muggles-. I feel sorry for the prat." Draco looked at her sharply, and she hastily said, "Almost. Do you suppose we ought to ask them over to eat with us tomorrow?" Draco stared at her, his gray gaze as chilly as his father's ever was. "I meant, it would throw them off guard."

"Careful, Pansy. Don't go soft hearted on dregs like Weasley and Potter. Like to like, and they're not our kind, dear." He glanced over at the two heads, one rust-red and the other messy-dark, so close together. "Not our kind at all."

~~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~~

Harry was as good as his word. By nine-thirty he was snoring softly, only the very top of his head peeking out from under the sheet. Ron felt at loose ends. He knew that if he tried to go to bed he'd just end up staring at the ceiling, since he wasn't the least bit sleepy. He considered building a house with Exploding Snap cards, but he couldn't risk having the house collapse and wake Harry up with the resulting bang. Harry had given Ron permission to listen to his wireless any time he liked, but that was out for the same reason as the card house. Ron finally decided he might as well pack away his school things.

He dumped piles of parchment and quills into his open trunk, muttering, "Won't need you lot till September." Then he thought about how his mother would react if he didn't write at least once a week, and grudgingly removed some of them. Next came the text books. These would be passed down to Ginny next years, and he wished her luck of them. He was tempted to just thump them in, but torn pages would bring the wrath of Mum down on his head, so he laid each one in the trunk carefully, counting as a whisper. When he reached eight, he paused, frowning. *That's not right, is it? I should have nine. Better check.*

He counted them again, and again, feeling dismay grow. He lined them up, checking them carefully. *What's missing? What have I lost? We still have George and Fred's stuff at home, so we should have an extra with no problem, as long as it isn't...* It wasn't there. *Oh, -please- don't let it be my 'From Abyssinian Figs to Wormwood-- Magic and Non-Magic Plants of the World'. Not that, -anything- but that! Maybe I left it in the common room.*

Ron scoured the tower, even searching the other dorms in case (he told himself) one of the other students had accidentally carried it to their room accidentally. Finally he ended up sitting before the dying fire in the common room, his head in his hands. *I'm done for. That's the -only- book that we had to buy new, since Sprout decided to change the texts for fourth years. I -have- to find it, or a howler from Mum will be the least of my worries. Where did I last have it? Think, Weasley, -think-!*

His head shot up. *The greenhouse! I some of us brought the book to our final, and Sprout had us put them on the counter at the back. I'm -sure- that I never got mine when I left. It must still be there. I can get it tomorrow.* He chewed his lip. *Who am I joking? I won't have a prayer of sleeping if I don't go get it now.*

He got up and went to push the painting open, peering into the hall to be sure that neither Filch nor Mrs. Norris were lurking nearby. Ron cast his eyes upward. *Just once. Just once let me get away with something like Fred and George.*

~~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~~

It was just before ten when Draco Malfoy made his way toward the greenhouse. It was a moonless night, and the stars weren't bright enough for Draco to worry about being seen. The candle clutched in the Hand of Glory provided a sickly, but adequate, illumination--one that no one but Draco would see. *Still, when I leave, I'll go back the round-about way. Boldness is one thing, but foolish risk is another.*

Draco held the Hand of Glory closer to the greenhouse door, studying the lock. It was a mid-level padlock from Barr Magical Security. *Huh. I suppose they think it's safe enough, since they won't teach even the seniors an opening spell stronger than what they'd need to unlock a bathroom door.* He drew his wand from his sleeve and tapped the lock, whispering, "Effringo claustrum." The lock popped open. *Luckily Malfoys are not bound by what they think we -should- know.*

Draco slipped inside and went directly to the cabinets at the back. *Middle cabinet, lower section.* Draco repeated the unlocking spell, and opened the cabinet. Sure enough there was a heavy canvas bag, not much bigger than a bludger. It was the only one, but Draco still checked it carefully. *Sprout. SL. Right.* He laid down his wand and used his free hand to pull a dragon skin glove from his belt, then paused. *Fuck. How am I going to do this?*

The problem was that the Hand of Glory only worked if he was actually -holding- it. If it left his grasp, the light became visible to everyone. He couldn't have that--not with these glass walls. Then there was the bag to consider. The damn cord around the neck looked -knotted-. *Damn it, Sprout. I know you're not the most simpering little maiden on campus, but couldn't you have tied a fucking -bow-? Eh, I'll worry about that in a bit. First, the glove.*

After a moment's thought he gripped the fingers of the glove between his teeth and wiggled his fingers up inside. Once he had them seated he reversed his hand, bit the edge, and tugged it the rest of the way on. When he was done he spat disgustedly. They claimed Magical Beasts that dragons had once been considered a food source (before they became endangered), but Draco doubted it.

While he was picking at the cord he realized that he might have opened the sack -before- putting on the glove. *So now I have a choice of taking it off, opening the sodding bag, and putting it back on, or just taking forever picking this damn thing open wearing a glove. Damn. Why didn't I...*

The greenhouse door opened, and Draco whirled, heart thundering before he remembered that he would be effectively invisible to anyone who didn't walk right up to him. *But why would anyone be here if they hadn't seen me on the way out? If it's Snape--no problem, but I hope it isn't Filch. Maybe they won't come close enough to notice me.* He watched as a dim figure slipped in. *Oh, I do -not- fucking believe this.* Draco went absolutely still. Any noise might give him away.

Ron had been surprised to find the greenhouse lock open, but he wasn't about to question his luck. He'd tripped twice making his way to the greenhouse, and it was even darker inside than it had been out. He knew where he was going, though, and was pretty sure of how to get there. He bumped into the first table and swore softly, then gripped the edge and began to shuffle along its length. *I just have to cross the few feet between the tables, make my way down the second one, and then the counter should be close by.*

Draco watched the other boy as he slowly made his way across the room. It was odd. Ron was obviously as good as blind. Draco could see that his eyes were stretched wide open, as if that would somehow make things clearer. *Idiot. What on earth is Weasley doing here at this time of night? Whatever it is, he could ruin this. I just have to hope that he doesn't get too close.*

The hope faded as Ron kept coming. *I could run past him--he'd never know who it was.* He glanced at the bag. He almost had the knot undone. Draco gritted his teeth. *I am -not- giving up that easily.* He resumed working, as quietly as possible.

Ron heard a rustling, and paused, but only for a second. After all, in a building that held bouncing bulbs and leaping toadstools, a few random noises were to be expected. He kept moving, sure that his goal had to be near. He reached the end of the table, then held on to it with one hand, groping blindly for the counter. He couldn't find it. Taking a breath, he let go of the table and took a step, feeling around more impatiently. Another step. He swung his arms angrily, and one slammed into something--something alive.

Ron yelled. His first instinct was to run, but his arm got tangled in some sort of cloth, and he stumbled, falling against whatever it was. He grabbed, and suddenly he was surrounded by a nimbus of pale yellow light, and was staring into the pale, angry face of Draco Malfoy. He blinked in astonishment, scarcely noticing the sudden pattering sound.

"Now look what you've done!" Draco hissed. He tried to pull his arm free of Ron. "Let go of me, you clot!"

"Watch it!" Ron snapped. "What are you doing here?"

"None of your business. It isn't as if you wouldn't be in dutch for being here, too, Weasley." Ron's indignation waned slightly. Draco was right about that. Even though his reasons were innocent, the rules were that students were not to roam at night. Draco saw that he realized this and said, "Look, I don't care -why- you're here. If this gets out, you know that Snape will start deducting house points - now-. How would you like to be the one who lost Gryffindor a hundred points before the school year started? No? Then we'll just pretend we never saw each other, shall we?" Ron nodded grudgingly. "Right. Now, help me pick up these bloody seeds. It'll take forever if I have to do it on my own."

"Why should I help you clean up your mess?"

"Because there wouldn't have -been- a mess if you hadn't been doing your impression of a windmill." Ron scowled, and Draco said, "So help me, if I get caught because I'm hanging about here too long, I'll not only tell Snape you were here, too, but I'll tell him it was you who put that Muggle concoction in his hot chocolate. What was it called--Ex-lax?"

Ron gasped. "That wasn't me! That was George and Fred!" He winced as he realized what he'd said.

"That's what I thought, but Snape they're not here any more, and Snape wouldn't have any problems with punishing one Weasley for another's misdeeds, and you know it."

"All right," said Ron sullenly.

"Keep one hand on me," instructed Draco. "Otherwise it'll be like the bottom of a coal pit in here. Here's the bag. Luckily they haven't scattered much. Get them all."

"Shut up, Malfoy." Ron began picking up the seeds, one at a time, and dropping them back into the open, half-full sack. "What are these, anyway?"

"Seeds."

"I can see that. I'm not stupid, you know." Malfoy paused, looking up at him with a small smile. Ron flushed. "I'm not the one trying to pick up seeds wearing a glove."

Draco watched Ron as he continued to gather seeds. There didn't seem to be any ill effect. Surely if the things were dangerous, there would have been a skull and crossbones on the bag. He held his hand out to Ron. "Pull it off."

"Do it y'self."

"I can't let go of the Hand, or we lose our light. I'll have to use my teeth, like I did when I put it on?"

"And you expect me to touch something you've had in your mouth?"

"Weasley, we'll be here all night!"

"Oh, all right!" Ron jerked the glove off Draco's hand, then stuffed it in the blond boy's belt. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic. Hurry up." Draco waited till he was sure that Ron was busy, then quickly slipped three seeds into his pocket before resuming his task.

They worked in silence, and all of Hogwarts would have been amazed to see a Slytherin and a Gryffindor working with such co-operation. When they were down to the last few seeds, Ron said, "Malfoy, what - is- this? I'm starting to feel warm."

"It's summer, and this is a greenhouse, Weasley. Being warm is hardly unexpected." Draco stopped picking up seeds to wipe a fine sheen of sweat from his face. "It is a bit sticky, but don't get your knickers in a twist. I've been assured that they aren't corrosive, or poisonous."

"Wicked," said Ron shortly. "I have to trust the word of a Slytherin- -and a -Malfoy- Slytherin at that."

Draco bared his teeth. "And as a Malfoy Slytherin, you know that I wouldn't be handling anything I thought might hurt me, even to do you a damage. God, you're as thick as a brick sometimes." Draco swept the candle around, scanning the floor. "Is that all of them?"

"I think so."

"Re-tie the bag, then."

"That will take two hands."

"I know that. I can't let go of the Hand, or we'll be in the dark again."

"And if I let go of -you-, -I'm- in the dark, and you're scarppering off to tell Filch that you looked out the window and saw me coming out here. No, Malfoy, we're in this together, much as I hate it." He shifted slightly, picking up the sack. "I guess I can trust you-- this time."

The instant he was released, Draco laughed and lunged away. "You're so gullible, Weasley!" There was a muted ripping sound, and he jerked to a stop, unable to move. "What the--?" He looked down, and saw that Ron had both feet planted firmly on the hem of Draco's robe. "Why, you devious, mistrustful slag!" A note of grudging, near appreciation entered Draco's tone as Ron, grinning, knotted the cord. "You might have made a half-way decent Slytherin, Weasley."

"Don't make me sick." Ron put the sack back into the cabinet, and Draco relocked it. "We're going back the same way. I'm not letting you out of my sight till we're both inside, and we'll both get in the same amount of trouble."

"Agreed. Just don't expect me to see you to your door." They made their way out, and Draco refastened the lock. "Come on around to the side. The greenhouse will shield us till we're almost to the school."

They rounded the corner, and Ron skidded to a halt. "Draco, we can't go through there."

"We can unless they've thrown up a barrier without telling us."

"Let's go up that way, then cut across and come back down?"

"What? That will take at least another ten minutes, and I don't want your hand on me any longer than absolutely necessary."

"Yeah, but look." Ron pointed. The area they'd been approaching was encircled at about knee height by cord, tied to a stake at each corner. There was little signs hung every few yards, saying KEEP OUT.

"Honestly! No poison symbol--no danger. Stop being such a namby- pamby." Draco grabbed Ron's hand and stepped over the cord. Ron let go with his other hand, but had little choice but to follow.

The plants were low growing, and thick--no ground showed between them. As was often the case, Ron's trousers were a bit short (he'd grown two inches this year), and he felt the plants brushing against his bare ankles. They felt surprisingly cool and velvety. He'd have quite enjoyed it, if it wasn't that the feeling of warmth had increased, and was now accompanied by a sensation that felt like a static electricity charge, running all over his body. "Draco, I'm really feeling strange. Are you -sure- those seeds weren't dangerous?"

Draco stopped and rounded on him. "Yes, I'm sure," he snapped. "If you hadn't been whining and questioning, we'd have been half-way back by now. I'm feeling odd myself, and you don't hear me whimpering about it."

"But this can't be normal! I'm sweating like a pig."

"I know--I can smell it." It wasn't a bad smell, really. It was a little sharp and musky, but there was a warm undertone of spice that made the hairs at the back of Draco's neck prickle.

Ron scowled blackly. "Recognize the smell from your family reunions, Malfoy?"

The tension that had been building since Weasley had discovered him broke over Draco, and he snapped. He shoved Ron hard. "Find your own way back, then!" He turned to run, but Ron lunged up with the speed of a cat and tackled him, bringing them both down among the plants.

The Hand of Glory flew out of Draco's hand, the candle going out, but there was just enough light for the two boys to make each other out as they fought. They wrestled and rolled, kicking and punching. Draco had grown some and was no longer slight. He was slender, wiry, but Ron was still larger. Still, Draco held his own.

At last Draco managed to pin Ron, kneeling on the taller boy's thighs and holding his arms to the ground. "Stop it! This is ridiculous."

Ron wiggled hard. "Fuck you, Malfoy! Let me up."

Draco made a sound of irritation, "No, fuck -you-, Weasley!" Without pausing to think, he leaned down and forced his mouth down on the other boy's.

Ron froze, his eyes going wide. Draco didn't blink, either, and Ron found himself gazing up into his eyes. *Silver--they look silver, his eyes and his hair.*

Draco was shocked to feel Ron's mouth soften under his own, parting slightly. He lifted his head slowly, watching Ron carefully. The other boy was breathing heavily, keeping eye contact. There was a deep confusion in his expression. He obviously didn't understand what was happening. Draco knew damn good and well what was happening- -he just couldn't understand -why-. *Weasley? He's a total waste, but right now he's the sexiest thing I've ever seen.*

Draco gave a mental shrug. Sex was what you made of it--nothing more or less. A pastoral roll with Ron Weasley wasn't anything he'd want to brag about later, but an orgasm seemed like an excellent idea. In fact, it seemed downright -essential-. "Are you up for it, Weasley?"

"What?"

"Oh, don't pretend." Draco moved till he was straddling Ron rather than kneeling on him. This was a dodgy moment. If Ron moved quickly, he could knee him in the bollocks, but somehow Draco didn't think that would happen. Draco lowered himself till their groins met, then humped slowly, rubbing their flies together.

Ron blushed furiously. When Draco had kissed him, there'd been a moment when his mind was screaming in rage. Then a wave of sensation had washed over him, and all he could feel was the silk of Draco's lips against his own. He was dismayed to realize that he was starting to get hard. "I don't even -like- you."

"And you think you have to like someone to fuck them?" He laughed. "Weren't you listening during Life Studies, Weasley? You don't need like, love, moonlight, roses, or a wedding ring. All you need," he reached between them and cupped his hand over the mound of Ron's erection, squeezing, "is this," Ron groaned, and Draco smiled, stroking him firmly, "and a little lube, if you want to be fancy."

"Just what are you suggesting?" Ron whispered.

"The official term is sodomy, but I prefer the plain, simple term of arse fucking."

"I meant who does what to whom?"

Ron's quick acceptance rather surprised Draco. He had supposed there'd be at least some half-hearted protests, or a little coyness. "You're calmer than I would have expected. No outrage?"

Ron shrugged. "My brother Bill is gay." Malfoy blinked. "What? He has long hair and wears a fang earring. Even if he was straight, there'd be rumors he was gay. Mum says the only objection she'd have would be if she wouldn't get any grandchildren, but seeing as she has the other six of us, that's not likely."

"All right. I fuck you."

"Why do I have to be the girl?"

"Why Weasley, that almost sounds like prejudice. Shame on you. I have an idea--let's compare size to decide."

"I'm taller than you."

"Not -that- kind of size, Weasley."

Even in the dark Draco could see the flush move up Ron's cheeks. "Oh."

Draco raised up, sitting back on his heels, and opened his trousers. Ron found that his hands were shaking as he unbuttoned his waistband, then lowered his zipper. Draco had pushed his trousers down his thighs. His cock jutted stiffly from his sparse pubic hair, its head already glistening. As Ron watched, Draco stroked himself. "What's wrong, Weasley?"

"You're not wearing any pants."

"And I thought you were inobservant. What are you waiting for? Ready to concede?"

"Not bloody likely!" Ron lifted his ass, quickly shoving his own trousers and pants down. His own eager cock sprang free, hovering over his pubic thatch. He almost stopped breathing when Draco knee walked forward, lifted it, and pressed it against his own turgid prick. Draco held them with both hands, and stroked slowly, looking down at Ron with tart amusement. When he was sure he could speak, Ron said, "I win. I'm at least two centimeters longer."

"The competition wasn't for longest."

"What?"

"Have you ever had a cock up your arse, Weasely?"

"No!"

"I have, and let me tell you--for your first time, you don't want the biggest piece of meat you can get. You're a complete virgin, aren't you?" Ron shifted, then nodded reluctantly. "I'm not offering up my tender arse for anyone who doesn't know what the hell he's doing. I fuck you, or we both go inside and die of congested bollocks." *I don't care if you agree or not. It will be easier and better if you do, but so help me, if you try to cry off now, I'll rape you.*

Ron was studying him. Draco kept stroking. He ran the pad of his thumb over Ron's slick cockhead, gathering the clear fluid. Keeping the other boy's eyes caught, he popped the thumb into his mouth and sucked. Ron licked his lips. "You'll be careful?"

Knowing that he'd won, Draco grinned. "I'll treat you like the delicate little rosebud you are." Draco moved off him to let him move. "Strip from the waist down."

Ron obeyed, while Draco did the same. "What about lubrication? I don't want it dry. Bill said that hurts like a bitch, and it isn't really safe."

"Right frank, is your Bill."

"He's cool. I can ask him things without worrying about it getting back to Mum or Dad."

"And you've asked him about anal sex? That means you've thought about it."

Ron tossed aside his clothing. "That's none of your concern, Malfoy. D'you want this, or not?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, I want it. Get on your hands and knees." Ron assumed the position, and Draco moved up behind him. "Spread your knees."

"You said you'd..."

"Since we don't have any lube handy, I'll have to prepare you the natural way. Just relax, and it will go more quickly." Draco put his hands on Ron's buttocks, caressing them. The skin was warm and smooth, as pale as cream, without a freckle or blemish in sight. He smacked one cheek lightly. "You've got a smashing arse, Weasley. You're a selfish pig for keeping it to yourself all this time." Draco used his thumbs to part Ron's ass cheeks, spreading the deep crease wide, and Ron shivered as the night air hit the humid flesh. "I thought you said you were hot. Don't worry--I'll warm you up." Draco bent down and dragged his tongue from Ron's balls to his anus. Ron jerked, but Draco dug his fingers into Ron's hips, holding him firmly.

Ron wasn't really trying to get away, he was just startled. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd been expecting, but it hadn't been for Draco Malfoy to lick his crack, then start circling around his anus with the very wet, very hot tip of his tongue. *I never even - thought- about asking Bill about this!* Draco lapped, then started pushing, his tongue wiggling. Ron's eyes closed, and he moaned. *God, that feels terrific! Malfoy's always had such an acid tongue-- who'd have ever believed it could do such wonderful things?*

Draco worked till he could slip the tip of his tongue into Ron's anus. He could feel the sphincter loosening under the oral massage. He paused to suck his fingers, placed the tip of the first one to the wet crinkle, and pushed, slowly but firmly. Ron whined in mild discomfort, and Draco said breathlessly, "Hush. Just give it a minute." He pumped his hand slowly, twisting it. "Does it hurt?"

"No, not really. It just feels funny." Draco pressed a second finger inside him, and Ron winced. "-That- aches."

"It will, for a bit." Draco was carefully spreading his fingers. "But you'll get used to it. Has Bill told you about your the prostate?"

Ron's head dropped, and he laughed. "Bill... Bill calls it the Golden Snitch--seek it, and if you find it, you win the game."

"Well, I have small hands, so you'll have to hope my aim is good with my cock. You're ready." He pulled his fingers free. "On your back."

"What? How can you...?"

Impatient, Draco shoved Ron down onto his belly, then flipped him over. "I like it face-to-face. Put your hands under your knees, spread them, and pull back toward your shoulders as far as you can."

"That sounds uncomfortable."

Draco almost shouted. "Do you want my dick inside you or not?" Ron silently assumed the directed position. As badly as he wanted to bury himself, Draco paused, relishing the sight of Ron spread out before him. This was going to be good. He edged forward, gripped Ron's hips, and lifted them till the boy's buttocks rested on his thighs. He angled his prick till the tip of his glans touched the slightly spread hole. He managed to keep the tremor out of his voice as he said, "Breathe deeply. I'm not going to start once I stop."

"I'm not going to ask." Draco growled, and plunged into Ron in one smooth stroke. Ron's back arched, and he bit his lip hard. Despite the preparation, it hurt--it burned. But he welcomed the burn, - needed- it to fight the other fire that seemed to have been smoldering inside him since the greenhouse.

Draco started fucking, his hips moving with practiced rhythm. There were some who'd looked at his slight build and assumed that he'd just get on his knees, but they'd been surprised. His father might disparage many things about Draco, but the boy shared his father's taste for domination. He didn't willingly bottom except as a trade off for something he wanted very badly. He was glad he'd insisted this time. Weasley was exquisitely tight, his virgin flesh gripping Draco's thrusting prick just short of pain.

"You're my first virgin, Weasley," he grunted, never slowing. "Do you like it? Hm? Do you enjoy taking my cock up your arse?" Ron slapped at him, and Draco just barely managed to jerk his head back in time. Then Ron reached up and gave one of Draco's nipples a hard pinch. Draco gasped, head going back at the sharp pain. "Fuck! Do the other one!" Ron stared at him, stunned. Cursing, Draco grabbed the boy's hand and dragged it back to his chest. "Do it, damn you."

Angry overcoming his surprise, Ron pinched the other nipple, giving it a twist. Draco howled, and slammed into him, their flesh meeting with a smack. Ron felt an explosion of heat deep inside, and his voice mingled with Draco's. Draco's thrusts became faster, harder, more erratic. He hit Ron's prostate again and again, and the boy was soon sobbing with pleasure.

*If I can make him come, the contractions ought to be fantastic,* Draco thought. He was about to reach for Ron's cock when Ron gave another strangled cry. His stiff prick was bouncing against Ron's belly with each of Draco's thrusts, and now sperm spurted almost up to his chest. There were two more diminishing spurts. Ron had wanked before, of course, and had always enjoyed it. This climax rocked him, making his whole body clench, then go boneless.

"Damn it, Weasley, I'm not through!" Draco slammed into him. "Don't you fucking pass out on me now! Do something." More from spite than anything else, Ron clenched his teeth and tightened his muscles, as if trying to pass a tough bowel movement. Draco's entire body jerked. "Oh, you fucking -marvel-!" He came hard, continuing to pump as he emptied his balls into Ron's clenching back passage. Then he collapsed on top of the other panting boy.

When their breathing had slowed, Draco rolled off Ron and stretched lazily. "You're a surprisingly good shag, Weasley. Too bad you are who you are."

Ron felt suddenly dirty. He sat up and grabbed his pants, using them to wipe himself--first torso, then ass. When he was done, he grabbed his trousers and started to put them on. He spotted Draco picking up his underwear, and snatched them away. "Oh, come on, Weasley. I've got to clean up."

"Use your own clothes. I won't have your spunk on my drawers."

Draco's eyebrows lifted. "You'll take it in your arse, but you don't want it on your drawers?"

"Christ, I don't know what came over me. I'd feel less filthy if I'd slept with Fluffy."

"I'm sure Hagrid will be willing to give you a chance, if you ask nicely." White faced, Ron took a step toward Draco, fists clenched. "Careful. This wasn't rape, remember? Hell, it wasn't even borderline. You wanted it as much as I did."

"Let's call it temporary insanity, then, and forget it ever happened."

Ron stalked away from Draco, stepping over the cord that surrounded the patch of plants and disappearing around the far corner of the greenhouse.

Draco got his trousers and began to pull them up. *Fine with me. But I'll wager that it takes you a lot longer to forget than it does me, Weasley. After all--you actually -care-.*

Part Three: Comfort

*Malfoy. Fucking, eternally bedamned Draco MALFOY! I choose to have my first time with a snotty, stuck-up, nasty git who's done nothing but insult me and mine since he stepped on the Hogwarts Express, and not just that, oh no. That would be bad enough, but I let him mount me out in the middle of a fucking FIELD! What was I THINKING?*

Ron's thoughts were a frantic near babble as he raced back to the school and found the side entrance. He was so upset that he scarcely paused as he slipped inside, almost beyond caring whether Filch, Mrs. Norris, or Snape might be lurking about. The only thing that let him hold on to his last shred of caution was the absolute terror that they might look at him and somehow KNOW. Ron could actually SMELL Malfoy on himself--a hot, musky funk that practically screamed sex, and he could just imagine Snape sniffing, then peering down that long nose at him, and speaking in that special tone he seemed to save for when he'd caught Ron or Harry out. *Well, well, well, Weasley. And what have you been up to?*

As he crept up the stairs, Ron thought desperately, *A bath. I have to have one--NOW.* There was always a chance that Draco's scent was more Ron's imagination than fact, but he DID need to clean up. Ron had learned one of his first practical facts of life--a dry wipe down just wasn't enough to make you feel fresh after a bout of raunchy sex.

He might normally have worried about meeting someone in the Gryffindor bathing chamber (there was often someone taking a last minute wash after a long study session), but there was little chance tonight. He was pretty sure that nothing less than an expulsion spell would get Harry out of bed before morning, and there was no one else to worry about. He'd be able to have a proper bath in peace.

In the lavatory, Ron started the taps on one of the tubs, then stripped while it filled with steaming water. He had to lower himself into the water an inch at a time, and it took real courage to finally dunk his balls. The tender skin immediately started stinging, but Ron grimly forced himself on, till he was sitting. Then he just sat, adjusting to the feel, letting the sensation go from sting to prickles. He could see his skin pinkening from the heat. When he was sure he could stir the water up without having the currents cause fresh pain, he took a bath sponge from the shelf just above the tub, bypassed the prettily colored and scented bar someone had left behind, and went straight for the hard-milled, yellow, institutional soap that was provided by the school.

Ron rubbed the bar on the sponge till it was thickly lathered, then began to scrub. He switched to a cloth for his face and genitals, but scrubbed ever other inch of his body--twice. He even dunked his head and rubbed the bar frantically in his hair, shuddering as he picked out a velvety, dark green leaf, and dropped it on the floor behind the tub.

He finally let the still warm, but now scummy, water drain, thankful that the house elves would take care of cleaning out the tub. He couldn't bear to think of again having to clear away the dirt he'd just removed from his own body. *What else? My teeth, I need to brush my teeth, and gargle with antiseptic. Thank God Malfoy didn't get his tongue in my mouth. I might have developed one of those Muggle eating disorders Hermione told us about. Lord, that gave Mum the horrors--the thought of a young person not eating. Damn it, my toothbrush is upstairs. I can't risk going for it, then coming all the way back here.* Ron grimaced, then used his teeth to shave a bit of soap off the bar. He chewed grimly, face working at the nasty taste, then rinsed his mouth out several times. If he hadn't been so disgusted with himself and what had happened, he would have had a good laugh at the sight of his own reflection, foaming at the mouth like a werewolf with lunar madness.

He got the taste out of his mouth eventually, and went to pick up his clothes. That was when he spotted the tag end of his drawers peeking out of his trouser pocket. Reluctantly, he tweezed the underwear between thumb and forefinger, drawing it out for examination. He moaned. They were tacky, thickly smeared with spunk, and traces of blood and shit. He scrubbed them in the washbasin, using the hottest water he could coax from the taps. He examined them critically, holding them up to the light, and eventually decided that was the best he could do. It would have to suffice. He certainly wasn't going to let the house elves get hold of them.

Ron pulled his clothes back on and made his way back to the room he shared with Harry. Harry was still sleeping peacefully. *And isn't that a small miracle? The way things have gone tonight I'd have expected him to be sitting up like Mum did the first time Grandy Tittlecan took Ginny out--tapping his foot.* Ron quickly crammed the damp pants into the bottom drawer of his nightstand--the junk drawer.

He got into his nightshirt, and climbed into bed, extinguishing the lights before laying his wand aside. *I'm going to go to sleep, and when I wake up tomorrow, this will have all been a particularly disturbing dream. After all--I've had sex dreams before. It's just that they were never about Draco.* Ron hadn't really expected to sleep, but he was more tired than he'd thought, the physical exertion and emotional strain had drained him. He dropped off into a light, uneasy doze. The problem was that, as is often the case, there was no escape from his troubled thoughts--they followed him, in disjointed dreams.

In the dreams there was darkness, and the dark, moist smell of fresh earth and green, growing things. There was coolness beneath him, cradling his body, but there was heat and hardness above him, and inside him. He was buffeted by pleasure that was as sweet as honey, and as bitter as gall. A voice whispered, "You like it, of course you like it, little slut, can't help your nature, born to be used," and there was silver, silver glinting off hair and from eyes, and *oh, God, that's WRONG! The eyes should be green.*

Harry was awakened by a low moan. For a moment he thought that it was one of the school ghosts, but they were on strict orders to stay within the public rooms, and not bother the students in their dorms. There was only one person it could be. A little groggy, Harry got up and padded over to Ron's bed. He'd left his glasses on his nightstand, and he blinked as he peered down, trying to draw Ron into focus.

Ron had even extinguished the tiny night-light they usually kept burning, in case someone had to make an emergency trip to the toilet during the night. Harry could barely out Ron's face against his pillow, but he could tell that his friend was moving, twitching restlessly under the sheet. *He's having a nightmare,* thought Harry. *I wonder if I ought to wake him, or leave him alone?*

Ron moaned again, head thrashing, as if in denial of something unthinkable. He was talking in his sleep, but there was no force behind the words, and Harry could not decipher the faint sounds. Harry leaned closer still, trying to decide. *I don't think I've seen him look this upset since we almost lost Ginny.* Ron was in pain--emotional, if not physical, and Harry just couldn't stand it. He gently touched the other boy's shoulder, saying softly, "Ron?"

Ron jerked awake, eyes snapping wide open, drawing a deep, whooping gasp, as if preparing to scream. Harry gripped his shoulder quickly, feeling the tension in Ron's wiry body. He said urgently, "Ron, it's all right! It's just me--it's just Harry."

Ron blinked rapidly, but Harry saw some of the fear leave his expression. "Harry? I'm sorry--I didn't mean to wake you."

"What's wrong, Ron? Nightmare?" Ron nodded. "You all right now?"

"I s'pose so."

"You don't sound very convincing, Ron. Are you, or aren't you?"

Ron sighed. "I guess I'm not. You go back to bed, Harry. I might as well go sit up in the common room."

"Don't be stupid. You'll be dead on your feet if you do that."

"I'm not going to be able to sleep again, anyway."

"What do you do at home when you have nightmares?"

"Well... I haven't had them much for the last year or two. I used to go crawl in between Fred and George. I got kicked, and they grumbled, but it just felt safe, you know? I figured if anything tried to get me, they'd stuff one of their jokes down its gullet and make it explode."

"Would it make you feel better if I climbed in with you for a bit?"

"I'm not a baby, Harry."

"Yeah. Budge up." Ron shifted quickly, and Harry climbed under the covers with him. "Don't be selfish--share your pillow." Ron moved the pillow, and Harry laid his head down beside Ron's. "Now go back to sleep." He closed his eyes. A moment later he opened them again. "Ruddy hell, Ron--you're trembling like a flutterby bush. Come here." Harry put his arms around Ron, but the trembling seemed to increase. "What is it? You're not cold. In fact, you're really warm--I can feel heat RADIATING off you. Do you have a fever? Maybe we should go see Pomfry."

"No, I'm not sick. I just took a bath before I came to bed." Ron forced out a watery chuckle. "Good thing no one else needs hot water any time soon."

"What did you do--boil yourself?"

"Close to."

"Huh." Harry moved his nose up against Ron's hair. "Washed your hair, too. It's still damp. Didn't your Mum tell you not to go to bed with wet hair?"

"Make up your mind, Harry. Either I have a lie down, or I sit up till my hair is dry. I can't do both. I had to use that grotty yellow soap for my hair. I bet it looks like ginger gillyweed tomorrow."

"Smells nice, though," murmured Harry. "Clean." Harry was startled when Ron suddenly embraced him, squeezing hard. "Oof! Steady, Ron. Leave me some breath."

*Clean--he thinks I'm clean. I didn't think I'd ever feel that way again, but if Harry thinks I am, maybe it's possible.* Ron buried his face against Harry's shoulder, rubbing his face on the smooth cotton of his nightshirt.

Harry felt the moist warmth of Ron's breath against the sensitive skin of his neck, and closed his eyes. *Just a bit more, and he could be kissing my throat. Maybe it's time. I could never have tried to be intimate with him at the Burrow. God, the walls are like tissue paper--his whole FAMILY would know, but here, with the place practically deserted... How do I do this? Don't pull away, Ron. Please don't pull away.* Harry let his hands stroke up and down the length of Ron's back. Then he slipped one arm around Ron's waist. His other hand crept up to cradle the back of Ron's head, fingers pushing into the damp hair, pressing his face closer.

Ron went still as Harry pulled him close, urging his face against the warm, pulsing column of his throat. He heard Harry whisper, "It's all right, Ron. Isn't it? Isn't this all right?"

Ron breathed a grateful sigh. "Oh, yes, Harry. It's very right."

Harry used his grip in Ron's hair to gently tug him up till their faces were level. For a long moment they stared into each other's eyes. Then Harry leaned over, closing the scant inches, and pressed his lips to Ron's.

The kiss was tender, gentle, almost reverent--everything that Draco's had not been. Harry pulled back, watching Ron carefully. Ron knew that all he had to do was turn away, or make some silly joke, and it would be over. Harry would accept his decision, and it wouldn't be spoken of again. Ron said quietly, "You know, I DON'T feel ridiculous."

"Yeah, you're related to Fred and George, all right." There was a hint of wryness in Harry's tone, then it turned serious. "But don't joke about this, Ron. This is serious--at least for me. It isn't just spur of the moment. Well, I suppose it counts as spontaneous, but I've been thinking about something like this for ages."

"Have you?" Ron wound his arms around Harry's neck and leaned in for another kiss. "Smashing."

This time the kiss was deeper. Both boys opened their mouths, moving them together slowly. Harry was shocked at how good it felt. He'd practiced kissing with Hermione (as he assumed Ron had). That wasn't nearly as nice as kissing Ron. For one thing, Hermione was her usual bossy self, dictating exactly how long, how wet, how firm. And besides--Ron tasted better. There was a very faint roughness of barely there stubble beside the smoothness of lips, the contrast stimulating, and making Harry eager to explore the other textures of his best friend's body.

He's seen Ron naked before. Hell, this was boarding school--they had communal lavatories, and slept four to a room. It was inevitable, unless one was a vigilant, hardcore prude. Harry hoped that he'd be able to coax Ron into making love in the afternoon some day, so he could have a long, leisurely perusal, but he could just remember the glimpses he'd already had. It would be enough, since he now had hope for more.

Harry continued to kiss Ron, inching Ron's nightshirt higher and higher. Ron broke the kiss, pulling back, and Harry felt his stomach drop in disappointment. But Ron was tugging the garment over his head, saying, "I want to be naked for you. I want to feel you on my skin--all over me. Take yours off, too."

Speechless at the other boy's carnal generosity, Harry removed his own sleepwear. He'd barely dropped it to the floor when Ron was once again plastered against him. Harry gasped as he felt the hot, firm length of Ron's cock press against his bare thigh. "Christ, Ron, you're like an iron bar!"

Harry gasped again as Ron's long, smooth fingers encircled his rigid prick, pulling lightly. "I'm not the only one. You're a randy devil, you are, Harry Potter."

"I'm not a random one, though, Ron. I've only ever got like this thinking of you." "Yeah?" Ron's voice was teasing. "Not even for Viktor Krum?"

"Oh, well--Quidditch. Since he turned professional, I think that even the blokes who only like girls have a bit of a hard one for him."

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop rabbitting on and DO something."

Harry reached between Ron's legs and cupped the velvety sac of his scrotum, rolling it gently. "How about this?"

Ron bit his lip. "That'll do for a start."

For long moments the boys explored each other's bodies, becoming as familiar with taste, feel, and scent as they had been with voice, and attitude. During the past six years they had spent countless hours together, learning each other's moods, thoughts, and quirks. Now they set about to learn each other's flesh just as intimately.

Ron pushed Harry onto his back and began to kiss his shoulder, then his chest. He paused to nip and lick at the straining points of Harry's nipples, experimenting to see what would cause a gasp, what would cause a whimper. When the fleshy buds were swollen and near aching with pleasure, he moved down. He licked deep into Harry's bellybutton, holding his hips down when he laughed and tried to squirm away. Then he moved lower still.

"Ron," Harry breathed, as he felt breath ruffle his pubic hair. "You don't have to."

Ron didn't respond verbally. Instead he gripped Harry's cock in both hands and licked the tip lavishly. Harry moaned in appreciation, touching Ron's hair in encouragement. Ron placed an open mouthed, sucking kiss on the glans, then licked again, dipping his tongue tip into the tiny, sensitive slit. Clear fluid oozed out, mingling with his saliva, and Ron almost sobbed with happiness as the taste filled his mouth. *Harry. Good, honest, brave, caring Harry. Harry wants me, and not just a warm hole.*

Ron took the head entirely in his mouth and sucked it like a sweet, then bobbed, sliding the first couple of inches in and out between his clinging lips. Harry let go of Ron and fisted his hands in the sheets. He had to. He was afraid that otherwise he'd hold Ron still, and ram up into that sweet heat. "So good, Ron. God, you're so good. Let me do something for you."

Ron pulled back. "Do you mean it?"

"Yeah."

"Whatever I want?"

"Christ, Ron, I'll give you my firstborn child if you ask. Anything!"

"Sit up. Prop yourself against the headboard."

Harry was confused and disappointed, but he'd given his word. He scooted back till he was sitting, back braced. Ron pulled on his hips a little, sliding him a bit further down on his spine. Then he straddled Harry's hips, gripping Harry's shoulder with one hand and leaning back, reaching down and between them with the other. "What are you...?"

"Sh." Ron's expression was intent. "I can do this if I concentrate-- I know I can. Stay still, Harry." Ron gripped Harry's erection firmly, and shifted till the tip parted the narrow crease of his buttocks. He started to lower himself.

"Ron? Oh, hell, Ron!" Harry felt resistance as he pressed against something warm and rubbery. Ron's eyes were fixed on his face, and he didn't stop. There was a minute give, then a spreading, and Harry's cockhead popped through the tight ring of Ron's asshole. Ron winced, and Harry said, "Wait! Take a minute, get used..." Ron gritted his teeth and sank down quickly, spiking himself on Harry's turgid flesh. He yelped in discomfort, and Harry's arms went around him, instinctively comforting and supporting. "I didn't want to hurt you."

Ron rested his forehead against Harry's panting. "Didn't. Wanted it this way. Need it." He moved, sliding halfway up, then dropping till Harry's wiry pubic hair prickled his buttocks, scraping ever so slightly at the tender skin of his wide stretched hole. *I feel like I'm going to split wide open. He's bigger than Draco.* Ron forced himself to keep moving, erasing the feel of Draco with the feel of Harry.

It got easier, and Ron increased his speed. Then he tilted his hips just right, and Harry's cock slid over his prostate. It was suddenly all pleasure. He cried out, head dropping back as he gripped Harry's shoulders hard, and began posting for all he was worth. Harry grabbed Ron's waist and added his efforts, slamming Ron's lean, pliant body down as hard as he could, drilling into him. He'd planned to be slow and careful their first time, but Ron seemed to need this, and he wanted to give Ron what he needed. He wanted to BE what Ron needed.

Harry gasped. "Now! Wait... wait..." He held Ron down, keeping his prick embedded to the root. Ron whined and struggled, desperate for more of the friction that was driving him mad, but Harry was relentless. After a second Harry's hips jerked, and he somehow managed to sink just a little deeper as his orgasm struck.

Ron whimpered. "Let me move! Damn it, Harry, I HAVE to move!"

Instead of letting go, Harry leaned forward abruptly, tipping Ron so that he was lying on his back, his legs going up around Harry. Ron's hard, leaking cock was trapped between their bodies. Harry pulled free of Ron's clutching back passage and slid his still hard cock against Ron's. He grabbed Ron's head, kissing him fiercely, possessively, as he rubbed against him. When Ron stiffened, coating Harry's belly with warm spunk, the dark haired boy swallowed his new lover's cries of passion, taking them into himself.

When Ron was still, save for his heaving breaths, Harry slid his tongue into the other boy's mouth, tasting the faint traces of his own pre-seminal fluid. Then he rested his head on Ron's shoulder, stroking the taller boy's heaving flanks.

*I have to tell him, don't I?* Thought Ron.

"Ron." He couldn't see Harry's face, but Ron could imagine his quiet, grave expression. "Don't say anything, okay? This was... was pretty overwhelming, and I don't think either of us is quite in his right mind. Let's not talk now. Let's just take some time to think. We can talk later, yeah?"

*He didn't ask. Maybe he WON'T ask--then I won't have to tell.*

Ron hugged Harry. "Yeah."

Paternity, 4: Morning After

Draco Malfoy slept well. Good sex always sent him off like a baby, and last night had been no exception. Only one of his roommates was staying over. Eamon Pinkham was a fair, chubby, fourth year student, and Draco's favorite jest at his expense was how appropriate his last name was--'pink-ham'. Eamons had needed no urging to move into another dorm room for the summer, leaving Draco in solitary splendor.

Draco would have normally slept late, but he had business to attend to, so he was up early. He bullied the house elves into making him a bacon sandwich, and took it out on the front steps to eat. He was just brushing away crumbs when Daggett strolled up the lane from Hogsmead. "Hullo, Malfoy. Everything go according to plan?"

Draco smiled. "Not exactly."

"Bloody hell! Do you mean that you didn't get it?"

"Oh, I didn't say that." Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He unfolded it and showed the contents to Daggett. There were three bright scarlet seeds, each as small as a baby's fingernail. "Three--just as you asked."

"Don't go waving those about!" Daggett hissed. "You never know when there are hidden eyes, and it wouldn't do either of us any good if we were found in possession."

Draco had been suspicious since his last night, when his lust had abated enough for him to think clearly. *It would explain a lot, if it's what I think it is, but I need to be sure.* "What are these things?"

"Never you mind." Daggett reached for the handkerchief, but Draco pulled it out of reach. "Malfoy, we had a deal."

"I get the feeling that these things are more than a little iffy, Beanstone. I think I want to know what I've gotten myself into. I need to know, so I can properly judge what I'm going to ask from you in return."

"Malfoy, you don't dare back out."

"I don't? What are you going to do, Beanstone--report me? Who do you think you ought to speak to--McGonagal, or Dumbledore?" Daggett paled. "I could just flush them down the loo, you know."

"Oh, all right, but cover them up!" Draco folded the cloth, and Daggett said, "Did you touch them?" Draco didn't answer, but Daggett answered himself. "No, of course not. Draco, you hold in your hands one of the most hotly sought commodities in the wizarding world. Hell, in the Muggle world as well, I would imagine. They've got something I think they call Viagra that... Never mind, that's some sort of Muggle potion. The fact is that those are the only known, sure-fire natural aphrodisiac in existence."

"What?" He looked down at the innocent looking square of cloth.

"They're the seeds of the subitus libido plant.

"Why haven't I heard of this before?"

"I told you--you'll learn senior year. There's a good bit of stuff you aren't thought ready for till you're of legal age." He rolled his eyes. "And I used to wonder why so many seniors walk about with dazed expressions and glassy eyes. They drop a ton on you. The plants themselves are nothing--only the seeds are effective. Any kind of contact does the trick." He grinned. "My parents are renting a suite at the Claggmore Arms for my birthday, then clearing out. I'm spiking the punch with these."

Draco couldn't repress an answering smile. "Do the guests KNOW that they're attending an orgy?"

"Most of them are hoping." He held out his hand expectantly.

Draco passed over the packet. "I was right--this will require quite a favor in return. But never fear, Beanstone--I expect it will be awhile before I collect. Have fun."

Daggett slipped the handkerchief into his pocket. "Believe me--I will. The great thing is that there's a residual effect." He laughed. "The guests can get random bursts of horniness for the entire weekend."

Daggett left, and didn't see Draco's look of pained dismay. *Oh, now isn't that just charming--stuck in the hinterlands with limited choice, ready to be struck at any moment by the urge. Well,* he got up to go inside. *If what he says is true, I won't be the only one. Good thing that Weasley won't be going home anytime soon. I quite fancy having another go at his ass.*

~~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~~

There was a warm, living weight close against pressed against Harry. For a moment he was disoriented, then he relaxed, smiling as he realized what it was. This was the first time Harry could remember ever waking up with someone, and he decided that he quite liked it.

He opened his eyes and, at first, all he could see was a coppery blur. He realized that it was the back of Ron's head. They were lying so close that their heads were both on the same pillow, both on their sides, with Harry spooned up against Ron, an arm over his waist. It was cozy, Harry decided. He discreetly spit a wisp of hair out of his mouth. *Perhaps not ideal, but still nicer than anything else I can think of right now.*

Feeling the urge to touch Ron somehow, Harry rubbed small circles on his friend's belly. The skin felt velvety, and very warm. His fingers found the shallow dip of Ron's bellybutton, and Harry smiled, thinking, *Ron has an innie. I don't believe I ever noticed that before.*

There was a sleepy grunt, and Ron muttered, "Bit early for it, eh, Harry?" Harry pinched him lightly. "Ow. Let a bloke shag you and he goes all abusive." Ron turned over, facing Harry. "Good morning."

"Morning. D'you know," Harry said quietly, "that your hair doesn't taste nearly as bad as I thought it might."

Ron snorted. "Woke up with some in your mouth, eh? Well, just imagine what it would have been like if I was Hermoine. You'd be hacking up hairballs worse than Cruikshanks."

That made them both laugh. They quieted again, and Harry said, "So, it wasn't a dream, was it?"

Ron grew serious. "Do you want it to be?"

"No, Ron, I don't."

Ron heaved a sigh. "That's a relief." He sat up. "Let's get breakfast."

"You're an unromantic git," said Harry, amused, as he got out of bed.

"What? I'm STARVING, Harry. Don't you think a nice dish of egg and bacon sounds romantic?"

"Certainly not! Now, if you'd said gammon..." Ron plucked his nightshirt off the floor and threw it at Harry. Harry unconcernedly plucked it off his head. "Blind a fellow, why don't you?" They dressed. "One good thing--we don't have to wear the bloody robes for another three months. They aren't so bad during the winter--actually put another layer between you and the cold, but in the SUMMER-- stifling."

"Yeah, unless you did them up all the way and just went starkers underneath." Harry started snickering, and Ron couldn't resist. "Breezy days would be a hazard for EVERYONE--not just the girls." Harry was shaking his head, but his laughter was getting stronger. "The first year students would get an education outside the published curriculum." Harry dropped back across his bed, holding his sides. "People would fight over who was going to climb the ladder up to Divination and Astronomy first, all the best looking students would never have to wait in line. This is SERIOUS, Harry! Stop it!"

"Cah-can't. Have to... to MAKE me!"

"Mrs. Norris chasing a mouse under Snape's robes."

"RON!" Harry howled.

Ron jumped on Harry, straddling him, and shook him by the shoulders, shouting gleefully, "You're EASY, Harry Potter! EASY!"

"No I'm not, Ron. Not except for you, anyway." The laughed died from Ron's face, and he went quiet, staring down at Harry. Harry lifted his hands, running them slowly up and down Ron's arms. "Are we going to talk about it?"

A dozen emotions seemed to flicker through Ron's eyes. Finally he leaned down and kissed Harry, quickly and firmly, then stood up. "Yeah, but not before breakfast. My brain doesn't operate right when I'm hungry." He slapped Harry's shoulder. "And no jokes about it not working any other time, either."

They finished dressing and went downstairs. They met no one on the way to the Dining Hall. "You're right, Ron, it IS weird with everyone gone. I almost hate to make the house elves go through the bother."

"Hermione has infected you with socialism. They live for it, Harry."

"Snobby git."

"Hey, I pick my socks and drawers up off the floor--now, and you don't know what a luxury it's been leaving them lying about. Mum would snatch me bald if I tried it at home. Honestly, you'd think she'd be used to it now, as many kids as she's had."

"Maybe that's it. By the time you came along she'd got a bellyful of picking up."

"She isn't like that with Ginny, either."

"Ginny's the only girl, and somehow I just can't imagine her leaving her knickers on the floor."

They'd reached the foot of the stairs, and Draco was coming through the front entrance. "Weasley, I'm surprised at you. I would have thought that someone discussing your sister's knickers would have rated a thrashing."

Ron flushed. "Not everyone has dirty intentions, Malfoy. You could read a laundry list and make it sound like porn."

As they walked away, Draco called after them, "Is that an offer for aural sex?" Ron whirled on him, eyes blazing and fists clenched. Draco laughed. "A-u-r-a-l, not oral, you nit. Look it up, or have Potter explain it to you." He started up the steps, chuckling.

Harry put a hand on Ron's shoulder. His friend was so tense that it felt like touching a brick wall. "Ron, don't let him get to you."

Ron's color was deepening. "The rotten thing is he's right--I DON'T know what he meant."

"Aural, it's about hearing, or sound. It means getting off on listening to someone talk dirty, I think."

"Leave it to Malfoy to think of that."

"Oh, I don't know."

Ron looked at Harry sharply, and Harry smiled. Ron shook his head, smiling reluctantly. "I know what 'cheeky' means, Potter."

After breakfast, Harry and Ron did something that, as far as they knew, no Hogwarts student had ever done willingly--they went to Filch's office without being officially summoned. Mrs. Norris was sitting at the end of the hall, almost hidden in the shadows that pooled between the wide spaced candles. She watched them approach, yellow eyes unwinking, then turned and preceded them to the office. The door was ajar, and she slipped inside with a raspy mew. They heard Filch speak, almost cooing. "What is it, m'dear? Mm? What's troubling you? Ah, we thought we'd be free of the nasty brats, but they fooled us, didn't they? Some of them coming to bother us now, eh?"

"I TOLD you she talks to him," whispered Ron.

They knocked on the door. "Come in." There was sour resignation in Filch's voice. When they entered Filch was behind his desk, scratching Mrs. Norris behind the ears. "What do you two want?"

"We're staying over the holidays," said Harry. "Dumbledore said that we might be able to earn a few sickles by helping out with the chores."

"Huh. Never a worry about the mess and bother during the term, but when there's a chance to get paid, oh yes, they're interested. Right, work. Ready to get your dainty hands dirty, are you? I can do that, yes indeed." He opened a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper, smiling at the boys. Mrs. Norris opened her mouth, showing yellow, needle-like teeth in a disturbingly human smile. "I've got a little list."

A half-hour later Harry and Ron were both working with spades, hacking through grass to turn earth. "I don't believe we NEED a path around the restricted patches of plants."

"I suppose it could be justified," said Harry. "Students will be less likely to just walk over some plant that they don't recognize. "Seems like it would just be easier to fence it off with some cord," he pointed, "like that section. I wonder what that is?"

Ron glanced in the direction indicated, then ducked his head quickly, furiously hacking at the turf. "I've no idea. Can't be dangerous, can it? I mean, if it was dangerous, they'd have a walloping great fence around it, and CAUTION, BEWARE, WATCH YOUR ARSE signs all over the place."

"Might have been a good idea if they had. Someone's been messing about in it. Look there--see that patch in the middle? The undersides of the leaves are silvery, and they're all ruffled and crushed. Hell, it looks like someone just rolled in it."

"Harry, will you PLEASE pay attention to what we're doing, or we'll never get this section finished before lunch."

Harry resumed the work. He didn't notice the worried glances that Ron kept shooting at the bruised plants.

Paternity, 5

Severus Snape stopped by Filch's office. "Filch, have any of the students who are staying over asked to be assigned chores for pocket money?"

"Aye. As usual, it's only the ones who're skint. The ones with deep pockets intend to laze about like young lords and ladies, making more work for them that could use a bit of rest."

"Who have we got, and PLEASE tell me that Longbottom is not among them. He'd be worse than no help at all."

"No. We've got Potter and Weasley." Filch's voice held grim satisfaction. "I'll have them doing all the hard, nasty things that they've been putting off for the last few years. I was surprised to hear you weren't going off, Professor."

"Yes, well, I have a paper on the history of the domestic uses of potions that I've been meaning to finish for some time now. Since Sprout is going to be working with the subitus libido, and they're finally beginning definitive research on the fecundus plant, I thought that slanting it toward fertility and prophylactic potions might give it the direction it's been lacking. When do you expect one of them to be free?"

"Well, the task I set them is so big that I couldn't reasonably give them a time limit on it," he said grudgingly. "But I don't expect them to stop for the day before luncheon." He snapped his fingers. "But say, what about the Malfoy lad? He's of your own house, and you get along with him, don't you?"

"Draco? He's less of an annoyance than most of them. But do you mean to tell me that HE'S going to be toiling for pay?"

"Surprised me, too. Apparently old Lucius wasn't best pleased with his son's showing this year, and he's punishing him. Young Draco has been exiled to Hogwarts for the summer, without a knut to his name. I thought he was going to choke when he came in and asked for an assignment."

"He would have done. Send him to the Dungeon in two or three hours. Dumbledore got wind that some of the departing seniors might be leaving a few surprises hidden through out the school and grounds, and he's asked me to do a sweep. Each head of house has already attended to their students' sleeping quarters, and I am going through all the common rooms."

"Oo." Filch made a sympathetic expression--a rather alarming sight from him. "You'll be that tired."

"Not really. Instead of casting a reveal spell in each area, I've cast a magik perceptus spell on myself. For the next twelve hours I will perceive magic power traces as different glows. Of course I've screened out common maintenance spells, or I would have been BLINDED. I've also cast an indictus magika spell, which will allow me to interpret the source of the glows, and determine what causes them, and if they are potentially harmful."

"Is it working?"

"I've already found a clutch of Delayed Spawning Giant Frogs taped to the underside of a desk, and a Mumblemouth spell had been laid on my personal goblet. I'm fairly certain those were the Weasley twins' parting shots. One more year of Weasleys, thank heavens. Ron Weasley graduates next year."

"What about the girl?"

"I'm not counting Ginny. She's hardly annoying at all. If it wasn't for the hair, you'd scarcely know she was a Weasley. I've got to go now. Some traces linger longer than others, but it's best to look for them while they're fresh."

Severus made a methodical sweep of the inside of the school. Aside from a peephole that led from the Hufflepuff boys' lavatory to the Ravenclaw girls', he found nothing else. He even made a sweep of the kitchen. He had no desire for some over looked prank to interfere with his sustenance at a later date.

The house elves twittered and scuttled out of his way as he stalked through their domain, scarcely noticing them. He was prepared to leave when there was a timid tug at his robes. He looked down to find a particularly scrawny specimen of house elf peering up at him anxiously. "Yes?"

"Please, sir, my missus and I, we has a problem. We was wondering if we might speak to sir?" A female house elf was behind the first one, clutching to him like a limpet, and regarding Severus with great, wet eyes.

"Your name?"

"I be Golwoggle, sir, and me missus be Twitchet."

"What is it?" What sort of problem could a house elf have, anyway? Golwoggle hemmed and hawed, and Twitchet began turning an alarming shade of purple. "Spit it out!"

"Twitchet be with kit, sir."

Snape blinked. House elves didn't reproduce often, given their long lifespan, but it DID happen. Though usually it was only when a member of the family they were bound to was setting up a new household. "Congratulations. Do you expect me to be godfather?"

Golwoggle blinked. "No, sir, how silly. It's just that we don't know HOW this happened."

Snape shook his head. "As far as I know, the basics are the same for witches and wizards, Muggles and house elves."

"But sir, we dint PLAN on it."

That made Severus pause. Though, as he'd said, the basic mechanics of impregnation were the same, there was one thing distinctly different about house elves--they didn't conceive unless they had DECIDED to. "You, Twitchet--step out so I can see you."

She nervously shuffled a few steps to the side. Snape narrowed his eyes, examining her closely. "Well, you're pregnant, all right, but it's very new."

"Twere last night, sir, about, oh..." she looked at her husband, "one o'the clock, were it, Gol?" Another peculiarity of house elves--they knew the EXACT MOMENT that a kit was conceived. Muggles and wizards alike might debate when life began till they were blue in the face--house elves had no such doubts.

Snape sat down. "I want you to tell me everything that happened up till that moment."

Now Golwoggle was turning purple. "What, everything?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "No need to be pornographic. Just tell me what you did that evening."

"Well, sir, it were nothing unusual. We did work late, as there were so much to do, what with the young misters and misses clearing out. Always a bit of clutter to see to, last day. We cleaned the Gryffindor tower, and the second floor classrooms."

"Did you run across anything out of the ordinary? Any funny feelings, like someone might have been casting a spell on you?"

"No, sir."

"Did you find anything out of place? Anything unusual?"

"No, sir."

"Gol," Twitchet poked him. "What about that there leaf?"

"Twitch, that were just some trash what one of the young masters tracked in," her husband chided her.

"What leaf was this?" asked Snape.

"Just a common leaf, sir, I'm sure," said Golwoggle. "Missus found it behind the tub in the Gryffindor boys' lav. She showed it to me."

"What did this look like?"

Golwoggle shrugged, but Twitchet clasped her hands. "Right pretty it were, sir. All like dark green velvet on one side, and silver satin on t'other."

Snape started. "No, I don't believe it. Did you throw this leaf away?"

"No, sir. I have it tucked away beneath my pillow. As I said, it's right pretty."

"Fetch it." Twitchet trotted away, and Snape addressed her husband. "You haven't been frolicking in the plant patch behind the green house, have you?"

"Sir!" said Golwoggle indignantly. "That be restricted!"

Twitchet brought the leaf to Snape and handed it to him. He examined it. "Show me your hands." Both elves held out their hands, and Snape concentrated. There was a faint silver glow about their fingers and palms. "Well, there's the explanation. You two have been messing about with fecundus."

"Oooo," breathed the two. Then Golwoggle, sounding relieved, said, "That's what it were, then." He clapped Twitchet on the shoulder. "Well, old girl, looks like we're caught. The students are going to drive us mad next term, what with coming down to see baby. They love elf kits, they do."

"She'd better take off work now," said Snape, standing up. The gestation period for house elves was ninety days, and such a swift pregnancy required careful handling. "See Dumbledore, Pomfrey, or myself IMMEDIATELY if you feel the least bit off." They nodded happily, all worry forgotten, and began to discuss baby names. They seemed to be favoring Turnip, since it would be good for a boy OR a girl.

He spotted Weasley and Potter working diligently along the plant patch in back of the greenhouse, and decided that he'd need to go have a look at the fecundus--but first he had to check the greenhouse.

~~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~~

"Oh, come ON, Harry, that's ENOUGH! I want to go into Hogsmead for lunch, then visit Honeydukes. Mum was feeling guilty about leaving me here, and she sent a letter of credit, five whole galleons! I'll be able to treat you for once," Ron boasted.

"All right," Harry agreed, using flipping one last clod aside. "It's getting too hot, anyway. We'd end up having to bathe before we went anywhere if we kept on."

Ron gathered up the spades and hoes. "You rest a bit, and I'll take these to the tool shed."

~~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~~

Everything seemed to be as it should be, till he neared the back of the room. He paused, frowning. There was a reddish glow spread over a considerable patch in front of the cabinets. Severus squatted before it, concentrating, but it was fading, and hard to read. Then he noticed a brighter glow coming from just ender the edge of the cabinet. He used the tip of his wand to tease the object out from under the cabinet, then sat back on his heels in surprise. *A subitus libido seed! That explains this massive trace. What on earth happened? Sprout was excited about having them, but very nervous. I seriously doubt she'd have been so casual as to spill them, and she'd NEVER leave any lying about.*

Snape thought for a moment, chewing his lip. The safest course of action would be to simply destroy the thing. But these were part of an official study, and he supposed they all needed to be accounted for. He found an empty seed packet and levitated the seed into it, then folded it tight and slipped it into his pocket. He'd decide later whether he should hand it over to Dumbledore, destroy it, or give it to Sprout when she returned in the autumn.

*Now, the house elves said that the leaf was in the Gryffindor lavatory. It had to have been left there last night, and that means that it was either Potter, or Weasley. Perhaps they'll give me an excuse to levy a few demerits even BEFORE their senior year starts.*

~~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~~

Ron finished hanging the tools up, then paused. He'd wiped his face after finishing the work, and it was dim and cool in the tool shed, much cooler than it was outside. He rubbed his forehead, and his fingers slid in a thin film of moisture. He was feeling funny again, and he wondered if he ought to cancel the trip to Hogsmead and go take a cold shower instead.

The shed went dark, and Ron turned quickly. Draco Malfoy was leaning against the door, pale hair gleaming in the thin sunlight that filtered through the shed's single, high window. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco smirked and stepped over to him. He grabbed Ron's hand and pulled it down to his crotch, pressing it down firmly. "Three guesses, and the first two don't count."

There was a hard, warm lump under Ron's palm. For a split second his hand curved over it, cupping, and then he jerked away, as if burned. "You're out of your bloody mind!"

"If I am, then I have company." He grabbed at Ron, giving the other boy's fly a rough squeeze. "You're just as hard as I am, Weasley. Come on, drop trou."

Ron felt his face flame, and smacked Draco's hand away. "Stop it! I don't know what came over me last night, but it's not going to happen again."

"Don't be stupid, Weasley--it IS happening."

"I don't WANT it."

"I wasn't going to explain this--I rather like you clueless, but maybe understanding will get you over this damn false modesty. You don't really have a choice in this, Weasley, and neither do I. You know those seeds from last night? I should have listened to Beanstone when he told me not to touch them. If I had, you'd still be a virgin, and I wouldn't have a bloody embarrassing liaison in my past."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean they were an aphrodisiac--a strong one, and they're still working. You can feel it." Ron was shaking his head. "Denial will hurt you in this case, Weasley. If you don't give in to it, you'll get sick as a dog," Draco lied. He was pretty sure that fighting off the libido effect might make one feel miserable, but it wasn't likely to be damaging. "Then you'll have to go to Pomfrey, and she'll have to tell Dumbledore, and HE'LL have to tell your parents..." He sighed with mock sadness. "And I'd REALLY hate to see you in such trouble when the solution is so simple--and so NICE."

Ron was shaking. The effect was there, Draco was right about that. His blood was racing, his nipples were stiff, and he was hard in his pants. He even felt his asshole twitch in anticipation (the traitor). "If I do it," Ron said slowly, "will that be it?"

"How should I know? I expect so. Beanstone said the effect could reoccur for a couple of days, but it doesn't seem to be too virulent. If it does, we can just agree that we'll find someone else. I'll pick up some slut at the Hog's Head, and you," he smiled nastily, "you can have a cuddle with Potter."

"Don't you talk about him," Ron growled.

"Fine by me. Now take down your damn trousers and bend over the table."

"This has to be fast. Harry is waiting for me."

"Quick and dirty it is, then. I have no problem with that." Ron had lowered his trousers and pants and braced himself on the table. "You really DO have a choice bum, Weasley. Spread you legs."

Ron shifted his feet as far apart as they'd go, trapped in his clothes. "Will you just shut up, fuck me, and get it over with?"

"Mm, rough trade." Ron felt his buttocks parted, and hissed in surprised pain as a finger breeched him abruptly. "You said fast," Draco reminded him. "But I'm being a considerate lover. I brought some Blislide--the best lubricant around. It has a stimulation spell worked in." He pumped roughly. "Can you feel it?"

Ron gritted his teeth. He could, but he didn't want to admit it to Draco. "I don't know what you are, Draco, but you're not my lover."

Draco forced in a second finger. "Your fucker, then--all the same to me." He laughed when Ron involuntarily pushed back, driving his fingers in even deeper. "You're an impatient slut." He pulled free and quickly wiped more of the ointment over his own straining cock. With no further hesitation he gripped Ron's hips, moved up behind him, and mounted him.

Ron pounded his fists on the table in pleasure and pain. It had been less painful and more fulfilling with Harry, but he couldn't lie to himself well enough to believe that this didn't feel good. Draco drove in and out of his body at a punishing pace. He reached around and gripped Ron's bobbing cock with one hand, fisting it tightly and stroking in counterpoint to his thrusts.

This time Draco finished first, filling Ron's back passage with a satisfied grunt. He pulled free of Ron, then turned him. Ron's feet tangled in his trousers, and he fell back against the table as Draco sank to his knees. "I think that was good enough to deserve a little reward."

Ron gave a choked cry as Draco swallowed his cock, taking it down his throat in one smooth swoop. *Wouldn't you know that Malfoy would be an expert cocksucker,* he thought, dazed, as he shot his load. Draco swallowed, tnen spent a moment nursing the last few drops of come from Ron's dwindling erection. When he was done he licked away the last traces, leaving Ron clean and damp. He stood, giving the other boy's cock a pat. "There. Now you don't have to worry about clean up."

The two pulled up their pants and refastened their clothes in silence. Draco was reaching for the door when Ron said, "That was the last time. I mean it."

Draco nodded, but as he left he was thinking, *I seem to recall you saying something along those lines last night, too.*

~~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~~

Potter was alone when Snape got back to the patch. He was sitting on the grass beside the cord barrier, leaning back lazily on his hands, face turned up to the sun. The look of serenity irked Snape. "Potter."

Harry turned a green gaze on Snape, and didn't bother to get up. "Yes, sir?"

"Didn't I see Weasley with you earlier? Where's your partner?"

Snape wondered a bit at Harry's smile. It was almost sly, as if he had a secret. "Ron's just putting away the tools, then we're heading into Hogsmead."

Snape looked over Harry, scanning the patch of fecundus. He immediately spotted the large disturbed patch in the center, and pointed. "Have you two been where you shouldn't?"

"No," said Harry shortly. "It's marked restricted, plain enough."

"That hasn't stopped you in the past, Potter."

Ron came back around the greenhouse, and slowed down when he saw Snape speaking to Harry. Harry saw him, and stood up, smiling. Ron felt the stinging ache in his ass, felt the warm trickle of Draco Malfoy's come oozing out into his drawers, and hated himself.

"You took your time," said Harry cheerfully.

Ron could feel himself blushing. *Damn redhead's complexion.* "I took a minute to wipe them down, so they wouldn't rust. *And now I'll have to sneak back and do that before tomorrow.*

"Weasley, I was just asking Potter." He pointed. "Have YOU been mucking about in those plants?"

Ron forced himself to look at Snape's chin, figuring that would be close enough to looking him in the face to pass. "Why would I want to do that?"

"I've no idea, but lack of a good reason has never stopped a Weasley from getting into mischief before." Snape studied him. "I suppose a unicorn COULD have come out of the forest and had a roll. They're attracted to that."

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"Never you mind. You'll find out in Herbology next year."

"If you'll excuse us," said Ron. "The Three Broomsticks will be full up if we don't hurry." The two boys started for the lane that led into the village.

Snape watched them go, suspicious. He squinted after them, concentrating, then his eyes flew wide. Potter remained normal, though Snape knew that if he'd been able to see the scar, it would have glowed a dull maroon. Some magic traces NEVER faded. No, it was Weasley that caught his attention. The entire back of the boy--torso, arms, legs, and even head--simply GLOWED silver.

*What did you do, Weasley? Lay down in the middle of the fecundus and make bloody angels-in-the-grass?* Snape considered calling them back, then decided not to. The thought of a Weasley, wallowing unknowingly in a powerful fertility substance, was rather amusing.

Snape started back toward the main building. *I think I'll keep an eye on him. It might be useful to my research, after all, to see what sort of effect, if any, it has. After all, it isn't as if there's any danger involved. I seriously doubt that Ron will get lucky with a girl any time soon, witch or Muggle.*

Paternity, 6: Declaration

"Honestly, Ron, I couldn't THINK about sweets after that lunch you bought me. I feel like I should be popping buttons."

"Oh, come on, Harry," Ron urged. "You don't have to eat it NOW. We can keep a stash back in the dorm. Just think--never having to be without a chocolate frog. Hey, look--they've got Gum Rubbers!"

"Rubber gum? Shouldn't that be in Zonko's Joke Shop?"

Ron was examining the flat, brightly colored packets. "Not rubber gum, Harry--Gum Rubbers. You need to try this. Mister Honeyduke, here. I'm having some of the tutti-frutti."

"Right you are, young Weasley." The proprietor added the price to the list of items that were already piled on the counter. He reflected that it was nice to see one of the Weasley children able to buy what he wanted for once. It was rather disheartening, seeing them go term after term, watching their friends stock up on Bertie Bott's Beans, Fizzing Whizbees, Pepper Imps, and such like, and not being able to afford more than an occasional Stick-jaw Caramel themselves.

Ron opened the pack and offered Harry a slice of gum. "Go on, try it."

Harry unwrapped the stick, then popped it in his mouth, beginning to chew. "I thought you intended to save up and get a new dress robe from Gladrags?"

"I will. Don't be like my Mum, Harry--let me have at least one week of doing as I please before I have to be sensible." Harry's eyes suddenly popped wide open. "Started, has it?"

"Wow!" Harry hadn't been all that impressed with the Gum Rubber at first. It didn't taste any different from Muggle gum, but after he'd worked it into a soft, pliable glob, the gum suddenly started moving in his mouth. Harry's first impulse had been to spit it out, but then it had started to gently, but firmly, massage his gums. "This feels terrific," he mumbled.

"Yeah, but you need to stay away from the mint flavors--they're a little too forceful. Fred and George had to try the Extreme Wintergreen, and they almost lost enamel off their teeth. You're right about one thing, though--I don't need to spend all of my savings before I get my first paycheck. That'll be all for now, Mister Honeyduke."

Ron paid, and left the store for once with a comfortably bulging bag. "Next we need to stop at the post office so I can owl Mum and Dad, and let them know I'm going to be spending my summer sensibly. Mum'll be that proud that I've gotten work without having to be pushed into it."

At the post office, Harry perused the display of new stamps while Ron scratched out hasty notes not only to his parents, but also to his siblings. He was muttering under his breath about the cost of postage, but it was half-hearted. Harry knew that he was eager to brag about his new financial status. While Draco Malfoy might feel humiliated at having to earn his pocket money, Ron was rather proud of his coming financial independence. The display of the Dragons of the World stamps reminded Harry of Hagrid, and he went over to scribble a brief note to his friend on the bottom of Ron's letter to Charlie.

When they were ready to go back to Hogwarts, Ron still had almost an entire sickle worth of knuts in his pocket, and he jingled them proudly as he walked. They came to Honeyduke's, and there was a group of village children pressing close to the window, ooing and ahhing over a display of the newest set of chocolate frog Wizards cards. The children were discussing them excitedly, and they all trouped in to purchase some, planning on swapping cards afterwards. All but one did. One of the smaller boys, no more than eight or nine, remained outside, staring sadly after his friends. Harry noticed the boy's scuffed shoes and much mended, too short trousers.

Ron was staring at the child, jingling his change fiercely. After a moment he went to the boy and said sharply, "Hold out your hand." Looking wary, the boy did so. Ron poured his remaining money into the child's palm. "There. I'm under a compulsion to award a prize to the fifth person I see on every second Saturday under a full moon."

The boy gaped at him, then stared at the small, glittering pile of coins. He closed his fist around them and darted into the store, calling, "Wait! I got summat after all!"

The two older boys started up the lane toward the school, walking in silence. Ron was growing increasingly pinker as the quiet lengthened. Finally he said, "Not a word."

Harry shrugged, but couldn't resist shooting his friend a smile. "I was just wondering if he'll be too excited to notice that there's no moon tonight."

Ron chuckled, his embarrassment at being caught in a kindness easing, and they walked on a while in silence. *This is what's different about how I am with Ron,* Harry thought. *I can be quiet with him, and it isn't uncomfortable. With Ron I don't have to be Harry Potter every minute--I can just be Harry.*

"You're looking rather deep, Harry. I'd offer you a knut for your thoughts, but I haven't got any," said Ron.

"I was thinking that now might be a good time to have a talk. There's a nice bit of shade over there. Let's have a sit and natter."

"Suits me. I could do with a bit of cool."

They stepped off the road and walked a dozen or so yards to a where a great elm tree grew. The shade beneath its spreading branches was deep, and near its trunk it was as cool and green as the bottom of a pond. "Come around," said Harry, "And we'll have some privacy." The tree trunk was so wide that it could easily have been hollowed out into a house--well, one big enough for house elves, anyway. Once behind it the two boys were well screened from the road. They sat down, propping their backs against the tree.

As they settled, Ron said brightly, "So, what do you think of our chances in the World Quidditch Cup this year? Now that Krum has gone professional, I'd say that the Brazilian team is our main competition, though I've heard that the Americans are coming up with some truly wicked modifications for their brooms."

"Stuff our Cup prospects, Ron. That isn't what I want to talk about, and you know it."

Ron plucked a blade of grass and twirled it in his fingers. "You sure you want to do this, Harry? Now, I mean? Are you sure you don't want to think about it a little more?"

"No, I don't, and do you know why?"

"You're an impatient git?"

"What bloody impatient? We've been needing to discuss this for a couple of years now, Ron--at least I have. I thought you did, too. Am I that wrong?"

Ron wouldn't look at him, but he said softly, "No, you're not."

"The reason it can't wait is that we're going back to Hogwarts, and we're going to be sleeping in the same room tonight. Now, I might have been able to let it go a while longer and just think about it, IF you were off to the Burrow--IF we had some space between us. But Ron, you're going to be RIGHT THERE. I need to know how things stand, or I'll go bloody mad forcing myself not to touch you."

Ron blinked at Harry slowly. "Really?"

"Yeah, really."

Ron reached toward Harry's face. Harry sat still, assuming that Ron wanted to touch his scar. He had long ago resigned himself to the powerful allure it seemed to have for some people. Instead of touching the faded lightening bolt, though, Ron gently lifted off Harry's glasses, folded them, then tucked them in the breast pocket of Harry's shirt. He cupped Harry's cheek and said, "Can you see me all right?"

"Yes."

"Good." Ron leaned over and kissed Harry.

Harry decided that he liked kissing Ron in the daylight just as much as he did in the dark--perhaps even more. This kiss was itself like the outdoors--clean, bright, and fresh. Harry put his arms around Ron, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. It said as much as words ever could. Ron was kissing him here, in the open, within a stone's throw of a public road. Though they were screened from any passersby, it was hardly private. It told Harry that Ron was not ashamed of what passed between them, and that was good. That was VERY good.

The one kiss didn't really end, since at least one of them kept their lips on the other continually. It might be Harry nibbling at Ron's lower lip, or Ron sucking a patch of skin just under Harry's left ear, but it continued. All the while they touched--hands stroking and grasping over arms, shoulders, backs, bellies, and legs, feeling the shift and play of solid young muscle.

When the kiss did stop, they still held each other. They'd slid down to lie in the grass, but its coolness couldn't abate the heat that radiated from their awakened bodies. Their eyes only inches apart, they gazed at each other, the only sound their rapid breathing. At last Ron said, "This is it, isn't it, Harry?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"I mean, it's not just sex. There'd nothing wrong with that, I suppose, but it's MORE, isn't it?"

"It is for me, Ron. I'm in love with you. There are people I love-- Hagrid, Hermione, even if she is a know-it-all snit sometimes, your Mum and Dad... But this is different, and I know it. I love them, I'm IN LOVE with you. Now, say you love me back, you daft boy, or I'll wallop you."

Ron laughed, hugged Harry closer, and kissed him again. "No, I don't love you a bit. I'm a cold, unnatural, ungrateful bastard. Of course I love you. My Mum didn't raise any fools." He grinned, "No matter what my Potions master might say."

Harry put his head down on Ron's shoulder. "Why aren't we humping away like bunnies right now? I'm as hard as I ever was."

"Huh, good question. Maybe it's because, now that it's out in the open, there isn't quite that air of frantic desperation?"

"Could be. You know what one of the best things is about this, Ron?"

He pinched Harry's bum. "You mean aside from the obvious?"

"The best thing is we don't have that whole awful 'meet the family' thing to get over. You KNOW how dreadful the Dursleys are, and we're not worried about pleasing them, anyway, since it's impossible. And I've practically been a member of your family for the past six years."

"Yeah. We seem to be skipping the in-law troubles. Brilliant. What say we get back to Hogwarts? It's damn hot out here, and my chocolate frogs will be melted all over my cards if we don't get inside, soon."

Harry kissed Ron again, the helped him to his feet, grumbling good naturedly, "You're such a child sometimes."

As they started around the tree, Ron said cheerfully, "I've had a squint at adulthood, and I'm in no hurry to leave adolescence." As they came to the road, Ron glanced back toward Hogsmeade. "Hullo, look who's going into town."

Draco's blond hair seemed to strike sparks under the glaring sunlight as he continued into town. "He's turning into the Hog's Head," said Harry, mildly interested. "Is he old enough to go in there alone?"

Ron snorted, remembering Draco's comment about picking up a slut if the urge over took him again. "From what Hagrid has said, it isn't exactly the sort of place to be too careful of the finer points."

Harry frowned. "He could get in trouble there."

"Why should you care?" Ron's voice was a little sharper than he'd intended, and Harry looked at him curiously. "I mean--Malfoy can take care of himself, Harry. He's the LAST person you need to worry about having advantage taken of them. Let's get back, all right?"

Harry grinned at him slyly. "Want to hold hands?"

Ron returned the grin as they started off. "Dear, dear. I'm afraid we'd frighten the children."

~~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~~

Draco Malfoy was in the storeroom of the Hog's Head. A silver sickle (not from his own pocket) had bought fifteen minutes of uninterrupted time. The warlock who had paid had offered to take him to his room, but Draco had declined. Malfoy might have been horny, but he wasn't stupid enough to go somewhere alone with a stranger who practiced the Dark Arts.

The man, who reminded him just a touch of Snape, had approached him as soon as he'd sat down in the dingy pub. He'd offered to buy Draco a butterbeer, and had been told that if that was the best he could do, he could sod off. After two ales and a bit of fumbling under the table, the warlock had struck the deal with the bartender, and they'd gone down the narrow corridor to this small, grubby room. It was stacked along each wall with boxes and cases, barely leaving a yard square room in the center, but it was big enough for their purpose.

At present Draco was leaning back against a stack of boxes that contained bottles of the rough, cheap liquor dispensed by the Hog's Head (the finer, special order stock was kept under the strict security of the pub's owner). Draco's trousers were open, his rigid cock exposed. The warlock was kneeling on the floor before him, eyeing it hungrily. Draco had flatly refused to suck the man off, saying, "And ruin a perfectly good set of clothes? You must be joking." By that time the warlock was so filled with lust that he'd have done anything that the silver haired boy desired.

"Well," said Draco. "are you going to suck it, or are you going to just ADMIRE it? We only have fifteen minutes. If we have time, I'll give you a hand job, but if you want it you'd better stop wasting time."

In answer the man gripped Draco's prick and began licking it like an ice lolly, then swallowed half of it and began sucking in earnest. Draco sighed as a talented tongue lashed against his thickening flesh. He looked down again and watched himself sliding in and out between the man's reddened, wide stretched lips. He'd let him continue for a moment or two, he decided, then he'd take hold of his hair and give him a good throat fucking. He figured the warlock would enjoy it. Anyone who'd let themselves be bossed around like this one did had a bit of the submissive in them, no matter how they liked to think of themselves as the predator.

Sure enough, when Draco took a painful grip and began jerking his hips, shoving his cock down the man's gullet, his partner gave a muffled whimper and grabbed Draco's pumping ass, trying to pull him in deeper. Draco studied his long, pale fingers, clamped to the man's skull, as he shot bursts of hot come into the willing and eager mouth. As he hauled his partner to his feet and jerked open his fly to reveal the reddened, weeping cock, Draco reflected that it would have been much more erotic if his fingers had been buried in thick copper hair, and the suckling had been, perhaps, a bit reluctant.

Paternity, 7: Part of the Truth

Later that afternoon Snape was working on a list of potion supplies, noting what needed to replenished, and what needed to be replaced before the next term. There were certain ingredients that were perishable and wouldn't survive the summer holidays, not even with a refrigeration charm. Pixie spit, for instance, evaporated at a shocking rate after more than a month of storage. Since pixies were so tiny it was difficult to come by, even though the nasty little things were always willing to spit, even if not asked. He'd have to order it well in advance if he wanted to have enough when school started again.

When the door to the potions room opened, he was busy counting blood beetles, so he didn't look around. They were kept live, of course, till they were needed, and you really didn't want one of those loose. They weren't deadly, except in large numbers, but they could make life damn interesting, in a most unpleasant way.

"Professor, Filch said you could use a little help," said a familiar voice.

"Yes, Malfoy. I expect I'll be able to find enough to keep you busy, though I doubt that you'll enjoy it. Unless I'm mistaken you prefer to have your toadies, Crabbe and Goyle, do most of your ingredient preparation. Your grade might be higher if you did it yourself--they're ham handed oafs."

"But they work cheap. All they require is the off chance that they might be able to ride my coat tails once we're out of here."

Snape snorted softly as he screwed the lid tight on the beetle jar. "That's one thing that's refreshing about your, Malfoy. You're not the least bit shy about admitting to being manipulative. I sometimes think that might be your MOST manipulative quality." Severus noticed that a faint, silvery glow seemed to be emanating from somewhere behind him. He frowned. "Are you using a will o' the wisp for light, Draco? We've told you students time and again to use candles if you feel you need extra light, because those things can be dangerous if they..." He was speaking as he was turning. He stopped short, eyebrows shooting up, and exclaimed, "By the Light above and the Darkness below! Draco, what have you been DOING?"

The boy SHONE. He glowed with an opalescent light, shimmering silver over his torso, then fading out to a faintly rainbow tinged glow. It took Severus a moment to realized that what he was seeing was a magikal power trace--the same sort he'd seen during his prank clearing sweep this afternoon. The same that he'd seen on... "Weasley!"

Draco had been regarding him with bored politeness--now he tightened visibly, his expression growing wary. "What about him?"

"Don't try to play ignorant with me, Draco," snapped Snape. He walked past the boy and locked the classroom door, then went to his desk. "Come over here and sit down. We need to have a talk." When Draco hesitated, Snape raised his voice. "NOW!" The boy scowled, but went and took the front row desk in front of Snape, slouching nonchalantly. "I want to know what you and Weasley were up to in that restricted patch behind the greenhouse."

Ron sat up sharply. "I never!"

"Don't compound the offense by lying to me. I used a detect spell to do my check of the school today, and it's still in effect. You're glowing like a Christmas tree, boy, and so was Weasley. I want to know what the hell happened."

Draco's eyes shifted, then turned to meet Snape's. There was a rueful crook to his lips. "I don't suppose you'd believe that I chased him into it and administered a good thrashing, just on general principles?"

Snape eyed him narrowly, then pointed. "Not with that red glow on your hand. You've been handling subitus libido seeds, Draco. I found the spot where you spilled them in the greenhouse. If I were to take a closer look at Ron Weasley, would I see a similar glow?"

Draco crossed his arms, tucking his hands under. "I suppose so--he helped me pick them up."

Snape sighed. "Well, it doesn't take advanced arithmancy to figure out what happened next. I'm bloody surprised you made it as far as you did before it struck, especially since you had undiluted contact."

Draco scratched nervously at a stain on the desk, trying to look unconcerned. "I didn't know what it would do."

"No, I expect you didn't. This is one area of forbidden knowledge where those in control actually seem to HAVE a bit of control. It constantly amazes me that we manage to keep you young people so ignorant of any form of sexual magic till just before you graduate." He snorted. "While the wizarding world can be liberal in some areas, we're shockingly straight-laced when it comes to this. Even the Muggles seem to inform their youths better than we do. I've heard Miss Granger saying that there are all sorts of public service adverts warning people about drugs and alcohol lowering one's inhibition, and leading to impetuous acts. You shagged him, didn't you?"

Draco paled. "That's a bit blunt, Snape."

Severus flicked his hand. "And there's my answer. His glow was concentrated on his back, and yours is on your front. You did it Muggle-missionary style in the middle of those plants."

"I don't suppose it would do me any good to try to deny it."

"Not with that blush creeping up your cheeks. Blonds really can't lie well unless they have enormous self-control and absolutely no conscience."

Draco studied him. "Am I in trouble?"

Snape returned the study, and finally said, "If we pilloried every student who lost their virginity before graduation, the ceremonies would be a damn sight smaller. I don't see any good reason for this to go beyond this room."

Draco slumped in relief. "Thanks for that. I don't like to think about my dad's reaction if he found out I'd been grubbing with a Weasley."

"Yes," said Snape dryly. "I seriously doubt that Lucius would be best pleased."

"He'd be infuriated. The only thing that would be worse would be if I got Granger or Ginny pregnant."

Snape thought about the fecundus plant, and said, "I'd advise you to refrain from any physical activities with the ladies for a week or two, Draco." When the boy looked at him curiously, he said, "No, I will not explain that remark. Just take it seriously."

Draco shrugged. "Fine by me. I like girls well enough, but the pickings left this summer are awful slim. Now, what was it you needed me to do?" Under Snape's direction, he was soon grinding sea snail shells. He eyed the pile to his right, and the tiny pile of iridescent powder he'd produced, and sighed. It was going to be a long evening.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"What's worrying you, Ron?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, come on. You're about to chew through your bottom lip." Harry turned on his side in the bed, regarding his lover. "Is it sleeping in my bed? It won't hurt my feelings if you don't want to, you know."

"No, it's not that. Gosh, Harry, with the size of my family, do you think that I can't share a bed with someone? I wouldn't get ANY sleep during the holiday get togethers if that was the case."

"Then what is it?" Ron was silent. "Look, Ron, I'm your friend." He reached out, drawing a fingertip down the other boy's cheek. "I'm MORE than a friend, yeah?" Ron nodded. So, if there's some sort of trouble, you need to let me help."

"It's not like that, Harry," Ron sighed. "It isn't anything that can be avoided--it's already happened."

"Then I'll help fix it." Ron's eyes were huge and dark in the pale moonlight that filtered through the room's one, high window. "What IS it?"

"It... it can't be fixed. I mean, I don't think it exactly NEEDS to be fixed. It's just something that happened, and I wish it hadn't, that's all. Forget it."

Harry was silent for a moment, then said quietly, "All right." He turned over, putting his back to Ron. "If you still don't trust me enough..."

"Harry!" Ron spooned up behind the other boy, hugging him tightly around the waist, burying his face in Harry's soft, spiky hair. "That isn't fair, you arse."

He felt Harry's hands settle over his own. "What ever gave you the idea that love is fair, Ron?" Ron sighed, and Harry chuckled. "Stop tickling me. I wouldn't ask if I wasn't worried, Ron. You were in such a good mood this morning, and now you're acting like you have an axe hanging over your head."

Ron sighed again. *I have to tell him, at least enough to ease his mind. But I'm not telling him EVERYTHING.* "Harry--last night..." He trailed off.

"Please don't say it was a mistake." Harry's voice was level, but Ron could feel the tension in his body.

"No. No, Harry, that was the rightest thing I've ever done." He took a deep breath. "I don't want to hurt you."

Harry turned in his arms, facing him. "The only thing I can think of that will hurt will be if you don't want this any more."

He stroked a lock of Harry's hair up off his forehead. "I'm just worried that YOU won't want it anymore." He swallowed. "Harry--that wasn't my first time."

Harry smiled gently. "Is that all that's worrying you, Ron?"

"Isn't it enough?"

Harry kissed him. "Silly git. Did you love this person?"

"No!" Harry blinked, and Ron controlled his voice. "No, Harry. It was... it... It came at me so quick--both of us, really. It was like being struck by lightening." He made a face. "And just about as enjoyable."

Harry shrugged. "Then as far as I'm concerned, you were a virgin. You'd never been with anyone you cared about, who cared about you."

"No," agreed Ron. "I can assure you of that." He hesitated. "Do you want to know who it was?" *Please, God, make him say no.*

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. If it's someone I know, I'll have to deal with seeing them, and if it's someone I DON'T know, I'll wonder every time I meet someone new."

Ron closed his eyes in relief. He didn't have to tell Harry about Draco Malfoy. Ron felt Harry's lips graze his neck, and shivered in pleasure at the sensation when his lover whispered against his skin. "I'm not going to have to worry about him coming back for you, am I Ron? Do I need to brush up my dueling skills?"

Ron pulled Harry up for a lingering kiss. "I doubt there's any danger of that. I'm sure he wants to forget it happened just as much as I do."

Harry moved over him, sliding a hand up under Ron's nightshirt to comb through his pubic hair. "Good. There's been enough fighting in my past, and more yet to come, I'm afraid." He kissed Ron hungrily, squeezing the redhead's growing erection. "I could do with a peaceful patch in my life."

Ron reached up and gripped Harry's ass, pulling him down even tighter, relishing the solid warmth of his body. As they began to rock together, hard-ons painting warm, slick trails on each other's bellies and thighs, Ron whispered, "I'll do my best to be that for you, Harry--I promise."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Things settled into a comfortable, pleasant routine after that. Harry and Ron would report to Filch in the mornings for assignments. They were almost always dirty, rough, smelly, or all three. The day they had to distribute fertilizer in the greenhouse was memorable. Ron commented that he never would have believed that an ethereal creature like a unicorn could produce such odiferous manure.

They'd work till lunch, then either visit Hogsmeade or just laze about the school. The evening would be spent in their common room, playing games, reading, or just talking. They'd known each other for six years, but after they first made love, Harry felt that they'd grown immeasurably closer.

Now when they slept, it was in the same bed, snuggled together, more often than not limp and sated from good sex. But they didn't have sex EVERY night, and somehow that pleased Ron all the more. It said that there was more to this than just PHYSICAL closeness. He was happier than he could ever remember being. Yes, he'd have been utterly content, if it wasn't that he seemed to be coming down with a cold.

It was just past two weeks into the summer holidays. He woke up feeling tired. He supposed that shouldn't be too surprising, considering the fact that he and Harry had been particularly passionate the night before. They'd acted on a fantasy Harry'd said he'd had for some time--bending Ron over the table in the common room and fucking with wild abandon. Then of course it was only right that Ron should have one of his dreams come true, so they'd made love slowly on a blanked in front of the fire. It had been tiring, but lovely. *Still, I got a good nine hours sleep,* thought Ron. *Why do I feel so fagged out?*

He left Harry snoring softly, and shuffled to the lavatory. He made it just in time, because his late night snack of scones and jam suddenly decided that it didn't like where it was, and wanted to see if it would like the toilet better. He stayed bent over the bowl till the queasiness left him, then brushed his teeth so that Harry wouldn't smell the sourness on his breath. Nothing like chunder breath to kill romance.

The dining hall was empty of adults. What little staff that remained was having an informal breakfast conference with Dumbledore in his private quarters. Ron looked mistrustfully at the piles of bacon and sausage. He called up a house elf and requested a bowl of Wheatabix. Harry said, "You know, I was surprised to find out that the wizarding community ate those as well as the Muggles."

Ron sprinkled sugar liberally on the cereal. "I guess some things are just universal, Harry."

"I suppose so." Harry broke the yolk on a perfect sunny-side up egg. The thick, viscous yolk oozed out. "Snape said that stupidity isn't limited to any one race, so I suppose that other things are... Ron? Are you all right?"

Ron, pale, was staring at Harry's plate. The golden liquid yolk had seeped over into a small patch of grease left by a particularly fatty rasher of bacon, and now it was surrounding the base of Harry's fried tomato. The red and yellow color combination looked almost lurid in the morning sunlight that streamed down from the enchanted ceiling. "I'm all right." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"Are you sure?" Harry wiped up the yolk with a triangle of toast, then popped the dripping morsel into his mouth. "Maybe you'd better hurry up and eat. If your stomach's too empty, you can feel..."

Ron lurched to his feet, hand over his mouth, and dashed for the exit. He made it out of the dining hall, but only just. The sounds of retching floated back. The Slytherins looked after him with disgusted frowns, whispering among themselves as house elves, bearing buckets, rags, and wearing worried expressions, hurried past.

Harry left the remains of his meal and rushed after his friend. He found Ron sitting on the bottom step of the main staircase. He was sipping a glass of water as the elves quickly and efficiently cleaned up a small puddle of nasty looking stuff. When he saw Harry approaching, he grimaced. "Sorry."

Harry sat beside him. "Lord, Ron, no one does something like that on purpose. What is it?"

Ron shrugged. "I just came over funny, all of a sudden."

"You ought to go see Pomfrey. Any time you're off your feed, it's got to be sickness."

"Oh, there's no need for that," Ron protested. "It just took me by surprise, is all. I didn't think I had anything left to chuck up." He realized he'd made a mistake when Harry looked at him sharply. "I mean, the last time I ate was a long time ago. I figured it would have passed right on through by now." He stood up. "It must've been the mild. I'll have some toast and tea, that should set me right. Mum swears by it."

"You're sure?"

"Harry, I'm FINE. Gah, what a fusspot you are. Next thing you know, you'll have me wrapped in cotton wool."

They went back into the dining hall, ignoring the snickering Slytherins. Harry gave Draco Malfoy a particularly hard stare when he saw him smirking at Ron. *Damn cheeky git,* Harry thought. *He's done nothing but torment Ron from day one. Well, he'd best watch his step from now on.*

Ron was determined to eat enough to soothe Harry's worries, even if he had to clench his teeth and swallow any rebellious bile back down. It didn't come to that. The crisp toast and tea justified Mrs. Weasley's faith, and he even managed to drink a large glass of orange juice. He considered two, since he was feeling unusually thirsty, but weighed the risk of overloading his stomach and decided against it. If he threw up twice in one day, there was no way that he'd be able to convince Harry that he didn't need to visit the infirmary. Harry was a good friend, but stubbornness was one of his defining qualities. He had no trouble the rest of the day, eating a hearty lunch, a respectable tea, and a good dinner. He only snacked on Pepper Imps after they retired to the tower. He figured they'd be all right, since they were widely held to be a digestive aid. They seemed to work nicely.

Till he woke up the next morning.

Part Eight

Three Weeks Later

"I don't know," grumbled Ron. "Why do we need gravel on the lake banks? They tie up at the pier, don't they? Yeah, it can be a bit mucky down around the edge, but only if it's been rainy, and there's no reason for anyone to BE down around the pier unless they're getting into or out of a boat."

They were shoveling gravel out of a wheelbarrow, spreading it on the muddy area of banks beside the pier. "Well," said Harry philosophically, "you know how excited and agitated the first years always are. Some of them get jostled off to the side, and lose a shoe in the muck. We've dug two out already."

"Yeah, and one of them must be from the year before this, because I only remember one new student with a single shoe." He laughed. "And it was a Slytherin. Maybe there IS some justice in the world after all." He paused, frowning, then sighed and sank the blade of his spade into the damp earth. "I'll be back in a tic." He started for a nearby bush."

"Ron, not AGAIN?"

"I can't very well hold it in, can I? I haven't wet my pants since I was three and Fred told me there was a bogey in my closet while George hid in it and rattled chains." He smiled nostalgically. "Mum took skin off their backsides for that one." He continued on behind the bush.

Harry paused, leaning against his spade, and called, "But that's three times in just about an hour. How much pumpkin juice did you drink at breakfast, anyway?"

Ron was relieving himself, eyes closed with the sheer physical pleasure of emptying a full bladder. "I dunno--three glasses--three and a bit. I've just been feeling thirsty lately."

"Have you had any more problems with nausea?"

Ron shook off the last drop. "Planning on taking up medical magic once you complete your wizarding degree, Harry?"

Suddenly Harry's arms went around him from behind. "D'you think your Mum would like having a doctor in the family?"

Ron laughed. "Are you joking? Her chest would swell so much that she'd burst the darts on her dress." He stroked Harry's hands, where they were folded across his belly. "Mum and Dad are proud of all of us, but having a Doctor of Medical Wizardry in the family..." He whistled. "Mrs. Clabberstack would have to stop bragging about her Winston, who took up Magikal Law."

"You haven't answered my question." Harry stroked Ron's belly. "How's your digestion been?"

"Harry, you're around me CONSTANTLY."

"And I'm beginning to think that Fred and George aren't the only sneaks in the Weasley family." He shook Ron gently. "Answer the question."

Ron sighed. "It's been fine."

"Ron..." Harry's voice was wa

rning.

Ron pulled out of his grasp, turning to face him. "No, honestly. Well, for the last couple of days, anyway. I haven't chucked for almost three days."

Harry frowned. "I'm still worried. Throwing up every day for a week or more isn't NORMAL."

"I'm fine, you worrywart. Aside from a few aches, anyway, and I'm sure that's due to all the slaving that Filch has us doing." He touched his chest, almost gingerly. "I've been feeling a bit tender here, so it must be strained muscles from all the work."

"You should see Pomfrey."

"Harry! It's sore muscles, all right? I'll have a nice hot soak tonight and be right as rain tomorrow. Now will you PLEASE stop dithering on about this?"

Harry frowned, but Ron had a mutinous look on his face. "You have to promise to tell me if anything else comes up. You can't go ignoring your body, Ron."

Ron put his hands on his hips. "Right. You seem to be doing that for both of us."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Ignoring my body. I'm standing right in front of you with john thomas waving in the breeze, and not a look, let alone a how's your father?" Ron shook his finger at Harry, face mock stern. "Didn't the Muggles teach you better than that?"

Harry gave him a sly smile. "Oh, how very rude of me. You will, of course, forgive me."

Ron crossed his arms. "I don't know about that. I'm pretty offended. My willie doesn't like being snubbed."

Harry sank slowly to his knees in front of Ron, grinning up at him. "What DOES it like?" He reached out and ran one fingertip down the velvety length. "Does it like this?"

"Yeah, but it prefers something not quite so HESITANT."

"Ah." Harry wrapped his hand around Ron's cock and gave a stroking squeeze. "More along these lines?"

Ron sighed. "Definitely an improvement."

"You know, I bet if I tried very hard, I could come up with a greeting that would make john thomas stand up and shout for joy."

Harry was pumping Ron slowly. "I'd like to see you try." He paused. "Really, Harry, I WOULD like that."

"You know, Ron, in ancient times, even up to the middle ages, it was the custom for friends to greet each other with a kiss." He bent his head and pressed his lips to the very tip of Ron's cock. Before he pulled back, his tongue lashed out, dipping neatly into the tiny slit, and it was followed by a clear bead of pre-ejaculate. "Damn," he said, with false dismay. "Now look what I've done--I've made john thomas cry."

Ron gripped Harry's head, burying his hands in the dark hair, and growled, "It's because you're a great bloody tease, that's why. Make it up to him."

This time the kiss was openmouthed, with a bit of sucking thrown in. Ron groaned aloud as Harry widened his mouth and took the entire head inside. Unable to resist, Ron pushed forward, sinking half his length into the moist heat of his lover's mouth. Harry made a small choking sound. Immediately contrite, Ron tried to pull back, but Harry quickly reached behind him, taking a firm grip on his ass, and holding him in place. "Harry, let go. I don't want to hurt you."

Harry couldn't shake his head, but he managed to tilt it just enough so Ron could see his eyes. They sparked like green fire, and there was a very definite, 'don't you DARE pull away' in them. Ron went still.

Harry waited for a moment, breathing heavily through his nose. Then he closed his eyes and slowly, slowly began to sink lower. Ron started to swear softly in wonder. They'd exchanged blow jobs before, of course, but neither had ever been able to swallow the other completely. In a moment, though, Harry's nose was buried in Ron's gingery pubic hair. Then he swallowed.

Ron yelped in shock, hips thrusting helplessly, and climaxed. Harry pulled back a little, but not far enough to lose a drop of his lover's spend. When Ron's hips stopped jerking, he petted the other boy's heaving flanks soothingly as he nursed the last drops from his softening flesh. Finally he pulled off, tucked Ron's now limp cock away, and zipped him up. He looked up at his friend with a twinkle in his eyes. His voice just the tiniest bit hoarse, he said, "Well? Will that pass muster for Witches, Wizards, and Polite Society?"

Ron pulled him up and kissed him tenderly. "As far as I'm concerned it will. Just be sure you don't try that sort of greeting with my Dad next time we're home. He already likes you, so there's no need to go trying to impress him."

He let Harry go, and his smile faltered for a moment. "Gosh, it's hot today." He wiped his forehead.

"Not so bad," countered Harry. "Not here in the shade, anyway. But it it's too much for you, we can knock off now. I'll just dump the rest of that gravel out and give it a few kicks to scatter it." He hesitated. "You're looking a bit pale, Ron."

"I'm naturally pale. Haven't you noticed, Harry? Redhead, and all that."

"Yes, but..." Harry trailed off. Ron was looking stubborn. "You just wait, and I'll go take care of that gravel. Then we'll go inside and have some lemonade and a bit of a rest before lunch."

"All right." Harry went over and tipped up the wheelbarrow, letting the last of the tiny rocks patter out into a small pile. "Harry? I do feel a little off. Maybe..."

Harry turned just in time to see Ron crumple to the ground. "RON!" Harry threw the wheelbarrow aside and rushed to his friend, dropping to his knees beside him. His first instinct was to grab Ron and just SHAKE him, but good sense prevailed. He bent low, studying Ron anxiously, and found that he was breathing steadily, if a bit shallowly. He pulled open the other boy's shirt and pressed his ear to Ron's chest, almost crying in relief when he heard the gentle thud of his heart.

Harry slid his arms under Ron and staggered to his feet, his back protesting as he lifted the larger boy. Harry gritted his teeth and started back toward the school. He wanted to call for help, but he was afraid to waste the breath. He didn't have to. He'd barely rounded the corner, coming in sight of the entrance, when Snape exited. Harry had never been so happy to see anyone in his life. "SNAPE!"

Snape's head swiveled, lifting, the better to look down his nose at anyone who would so rudely accost him. When he saw Harry stumbling toward him, the limp body of Ron Weasley cradled in his arms, all traces of annoyance fled, and he ran to them, his robes billowing in his wake. He reached for Ron, and Harry flinched back a half-step, reluctant to let go of him. "POTTER!" Snape hissed. "Don't be an ass! Give him to me."

Harry handed Ron over, and Snape whirled, making for the entrance at a dead run, as if Ron's weight were trivial. Harry followed right behind him, but he was no match for Snape's long, rapid strides, and fell behind, but he knew just where they were going.

When Harry arrived at the infirmary, Ron was stretched out on a bed, Snape was hovering beside it, and Madame Pomfrey was already waving a small blue bottle under the boy's nose. Ron coughed weakly, and he pushed at hr hand, trying to force the bottle away. "No, you don't, lad," she said crisply. "You'll be needing another good whiff before I'm satisfied."

"Oo, Pom," Ron groaned. "That smells worse than that ogre we tussled with in the girl's lav."

"Open your eyes." Ron obeyed, and Madame Pomfrey stretched each eyelid up, peering intently at his eyes. "Hm. Looks normal. Now, then, want to tell me what brought this on?"

"Not really, no."

"Weasley," said Snape quietly. "Healthy young men do not faint dead away for no good reason."

"I--just had a little too much sun."

Madame Pomfrey was studying the boy shrewdly. "Have there been any other symptoms?"

Ron shook his head, but Harry spoke up, "He's been having a lot of stomach trouble."

Ron scowled. "That isn't the sort of thing a fellow likes to have bruited about, Harry."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Pomfrey tartly. "I can't help you if I don't know what's going on."

"Oh, all right," sighed Ron. "Yes, I've been upchucking a good bit lately--mostly just after I get up. And I've been tired, and a little achy, but I've been doing a lot more physical work."

"And he whizzes a lot," Harry offered.

"HARRY!" Ron put his hands over his face, but not before everyone saw the flaming blush.

"Er, he's been making water a lot," amended Harry sheepishly.

"You know," said Madame Pomfrey in a conspiratorial voice, "I once heard my father say 'pee'. Ron, has there been any discomfort with the urination? No blood in the urine or bowel movements, eh?"

"Gosh, NO! That would be bad, wouldn't it?" said Ron, expression puckering.

"Bleeding very seldom indicates anything GOOD," drawled Snape. "You haven't been snacking on anything in the greenhouse, have you?"

"Oh, for...! I know you don't have a high opinion of me, but give me a LITTLE credit," snapped Ron. He started to get up.

"None of that!" scolded Madame Pomfrey. "I need to run some tests to see what's ailing you."

"Oh, honestly! It's PASSED."

Ron started to get up again. This time Snape settled a heavy hand on his shoulder and pressed him back into the bed. His voice was cool. "While you are at Hogwarts, you are the responsibility of the staff. You will not endanger yourself by refusing to act in a reasonable manner, Weasley. You will remain here until Madame Pomfrey releases you, and you will remain IN BED, if she so directs you. Is that clear?"

Ron frowned, but wasn't quite ready to give in. "It's not school term now."

Snape's eyes glittered. "You're quite correct. There's another two months to go. Are you trying to see how many points you can lose for Gryffindor before term begins?"

Ron wilted back against the pillow. "All I can say is, the things I do for my house."

"I must be going," said Snape. "Madame, I will check back with you later on the status of your patient." He gave her a slight bow, then favored Ron and Harry each with an enigmatic stare before leaving. Harry was surprised to realize that he hadn't seen any of Snape's usual condescension in those looks.

Madame Pomfrey slipped a thermometer under Ron's tongue. "Hold that, young Weasley. Mind you don't let it slip out from under your tongue. If I can't get an accurate reading this way, I'll have no problem with taking it the way your mammy did when you were in diapers."

"I'd haff a problem wiff it," mumbled Ron.

"It won't take but a second to roll you over," Pomfrey warned. Ron subsided.

"Don't worry, Ron," said Harry. "I'll stay with you."

"I'm not entirely sure he'll want that," said Madame Pomfrey. She was putting on a rubber glove. "Some of the examinations and tests are a wee bit embarrassing."

Paternity, 9

Madame Pomfrey sighed heavily as she took the cup of tea from Snape. "Well, Professor, I have to admit that it has me stumped. I've tested him for everything that I can imagine, and it's none of those. I've managed to eliminate a lot of nasty possibilities, but I haven't been able to discover what it IS. I'm afraid I'll have to go to Dumbledore, and see about calling in a specialist. I hate to do it--Ron keeps insisting that no one else be troubled, but..."

"The boy is in no position to make those sorts of decisions for himself," said Snape firmly. "He's still underage, and we are acting in loco parentis. We have to do what we feel is best for him." Snape seated himself on the other side of the table. They were alone in the teacher's lounge.

"Yes, I understand that," said Pomfrey. "But Ron is so insistent that I want to be sure the step is necessary. While he has some odd symptoms, he isn't in any distress now. I couldn't find anything unusual in my examination. Well, aside from a bit of tenderness in his chest, but as he said, that could be due to the extra physical activity."

Snape considered this. "This tenderness--are you sure that it's muscular, and not located in the nipple area?"

Madame Pomfrey blushed alarmingly. "Professor!"

"Pomfrey! You're a medical professional, you know very well that you can't afford to be missish when it comes to describing symptoms. I swear, this overblown delicacy when it comes to matters of sexuality is infuriating. How can we expect the children to even know if they're putting themselves at risk if we refer to the genitalia as 'down there'? Down bloody WHERE? We'll have some of the first years thinking that we're talking about their feet, and won't THAT give them an interesting take on sex?"

Madame Pomfrey cleared her throat. "It does not appear to be a deep muscular ache, though now that you mentioned it, I believe that there is a very little bit of swelling, and... and..." She was turning pink.

"And?"

"Well, you know that it isn't the first time Ron's been in the infirmary. He's not as accident prone as the poor Longbottom boy, but he has his share. If I remember correctly, his nipples have changed color slightly. You know how fair he is. They should be pink, but they're more rose now."

Snape looked thoughtful, tapping a finger on his chin. Snape was thinking. *Darkened, tender nipples, nausea, fainting... and exposure to not only an aphrodisiac, but a fertility plant. Oh, bloody hell. Weasley, what have you gotten yourself into now? I have to be sure.*

"Does this mean something to you, Professor?"

"It might, but I can't say for sure. I want to make a test of my own. Will you agree to hold off telling Dumbledore till I have?"

"How long will it be?"

Snape stood. "I need to go to the nearest Muggle town, but I should know by later this evening."

She nodded. "All right, as long as there's no other symptoms, I can wait till tomorrow. But if Ron worsens..."

"Of course you'll act immediately--I understand. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go locate the most convenient place to go by floo." As he left, he thought, *I'll need one close to a Muggle druggist.*

That evening

Ron was staring up at the ceiling. Well, he WOULD have been staring up at the ceiling, except for the fact that he refused to pull the sheet down off his face. "Oh, come on, Ron." Harry had pulled a chair up beside the bed and was sitting beside it. "It couldn't have been that bad."

"She stuck a finger in my bum, Harry."

"Well, if you'll remember, I..."

"I don't fancy her, and she wasn't trying to give me a stiffie. At least I hope to God she wasn't, because her technique really leaves something to be desired if she was. Anyway, it's two entirely different things, and you know it, you snot." Ron sighed so gustily that the sheet lifted a little. "I have never been so humiliated in my entire life."

Harry couldn't help grinning. "Not even when your Mum showed me that picture of you bare arsed on the bearskin rug? When your image turned over on his back and piddled, I thought you were going to melt down into a puddle."

"That's number two on the list of Moments When I'd Have Preferred Death. This is the topper."

"Will you take down that sheet? I want to look at you when I talk to you."

"No. I've decided that I'm never showing my face again. I'll just have someone sew this sheet into a robe for me--one with little eyeholes so I can see where I'm going." Harry reached out and quickly jerked the sheet down. "Will you please leave me in peace so that I can quietly die of embarrassment?"

"Stop it. You know good and well it was necessary. We have to find out what's going on, Ron. You could be really ill." His voice lowered as he took Ron's hand. "I can't have that. You have to stay well for me."

Ron squeezed Harry's hand. "You've got to stop worrying." He frowned. "I feel odd, yeah, but I don't really fill SICK." He shrugged. "Can't explain it, but there it is."

Harry reached out and brushed a lock of Ron's hair off his forehead. "You're hair certainly is bright against the pillowcase."

Ron snorted, but the sound was pleased. "Trying to chat me up? It isn't as if you've never seen my hair on a pillowcase."

"Yeah, but usually the lights are dim, and here..."

"Company," Ron said quietly, and Harry sat back quickly.

Snape had entered the room, carrying a small paper bag. "Potter. How are you feeling, Weasley?"

"Fine as paint. This is a load of rubbish, you know. Weasley's are healthy as horses--all of us," said Ron.

"That's as may be, but we aren't going to take a chance."

"But Pomfrey didn't find anything wrong with me."

"She may not have been looking for the right thing."

Harry frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Potter, that sometimes when you hear hoof beats it isn't a horse--it's a unicorn. There's one more test I'd like to make before we call in a specialist, and your parents, Weasley."

"I'm tested out," Ron complained. Snape stared at him. He sighed gustily. "If this comes out all right, will you promise not to bother my parents?"

"No, but you can rest assured that I WILL call them if you refuse."

"Fine. Marvelous. What do I have to do? Stand on my head and whistle 'God Save The Queen'?"

"You must not be feeling to badly if you have enough nerve to snark like that when you know what I could do to your house's chances next term. Nothing that elaborate." Snape pulled a small box from the bag. "All you have to do is give me a urine sample."

Ron's brow wrinkled in curiosity, but Harry gaped. "You have to be joking!"

"What's wrong?" asked Ron. "It sounds simple enough. Certainly more comfortable and less embarrassing than what Pomfrey did this afternoon."

"Ron, that's an EPT!" Harry protested.

"A what?"

Harry shook his head. "It... it's Muggle science, Ron." He took a deep breath. "EPT stands for Early Pregnancy Test. Women use it when they think they might have a bun in the oven." Harry glared at Snape. "I know you don't like us, but really, this is insulting."

"Potter, if I wanted to insult you both I could do it in a much more subtle manner. If I didn't think this was deadly serious, it would smack of farce," said Snape. "You don't have all the information--neither of you do."

Ron said slowly, "Let me get this straight--you want to test me for pregnancy?" Snape nodded. Ron cleared his throat. "Um, Snape? I know I'm not the butchest boy on campus, but I promise you that isn't a possibility--ask my Mum. She changed my nappies enough to know what sort of equipment I have."

"And I don't see why you have to have THAT," Harry flicked a finger at the offending box. "Isn't there some sort of charm or spell you can do to find out?"

"No, there isn't. As much as it galls me to admit it, there are some things that the Muggles can do that we haven't yet been able to accomplish. One of these is the early detection of pregnancy, and don't think I'm not damn indignant about it. You'd think that they'd be funding research into that rather than trying to perfect an herbal 'marital aid'." The ironic twist of the last two words spoke volumes about Snape's opinion of that.
"Weasley, just take the bloody test. If it's negative, then we can all forget this. I, personally, intend to resign it to the status of a particularly nasty nightmare. But if it's positive... Well, if it is, then there's a knot of problems that have to be addressed."

"What the hell," Ron muttered. "It isn't as if I actually have anything to worry about. How do I do this?"

Snape opened the box. "I read the instructions. Pomfrey must have a bed urinal around here somewhere."

"I hate those things," said Ron. "They're always cold. Give me the thing and I'll take it in the lav."

"No. In this case, we need to be as accurate as possible," Snape had opened the bedside cabinet. He removed a handled jug that had a bend in the neck. "Use this, and I'll pour a bit out into this specimen cup."

"Oh, give it here!" Ron took the jug, grumbling, and pulled the sheet up around his chest again. "You're just lucky that you came when you did. I was just about to go pee, and I wouldn't have been able to manage a drop if I had." He fumbled under the covers, then went still. All three waited. Ron scowled. "I must have bleedin' stage fright." He looked down, and apparently shook himself. "Come on, you! Let's get this over with." After a moment there was a hissing sound, and a light pattering, and Ron's expression relaxed a little.

After a moment Ron carefully pulled the jug out and handed it to Snape. Harry waited for some snide comment, or an expression of disgust, but Snape made neither. He calmly poured some of the pungent yellow fluid into the cup, then handed the jug to Harry. "Potter, dispose of that." Harry thought of protesting, but one look at Ron's tensed face quieted him. He quickly hurried to the lavatory at the end of the infirmary and disposed of the urine, then rinsed the jug and hurried back.

He returned to find Snape holding his watch in one hand, and a small plastic stick in the other. Harry sat on the edge of Ron's bed, and patted his friend's knee encouragingly. "You're going to laugh about this some day, Ron, but I wouldn't mention it to Fred or George if I were you."

Ron laughed thinly. "Y'think I WANT to be the first wizard on record to be teased to death?"

They fell quiet again. Snape's eyes were fixed firmly on his watch, he seemed to be ignoring the stick. Ron said, "So, what are you looking for?"

"The positive sign is a blue plus-sign."

"Anything yet?"

"It's only been a minute and a half, Weasley."

They waited. Snape blinked, and one eyebrow rose slowly. He handed the stick to Ron. *That's it,* thought Harry. *He can't bear to admit that he was so ridiculously wrong. He's going to just not talk about it, not mention it...* Ron threw the stick across the room. It clattered hollowly against the far wall. "Ron! What...?" Ron had covered his face with his hands, and was shaking his head silently. Harry looked to Snape, but the older man was silent, his expression grave, and... *No scorn, no irritation.* Harry suddenly felt cold. If he had to put a name to that expression, it would have been compassion, and that scared him badly.

He rushed over and picked up the test stick. His hand trembled as he brought it up, and stared at it. Harry pulled off his glasses, rubbing his eyes fiercely, then polishing the spectacles on his robe. He donned them and studied the stick again. It hadn't changed. The tiny blue plus sign almost seemed to glow.

Paternity, 10

Snape sighed, and said, "Weasley." Ron didn't respond. Snape glanced at Harry, but the dark haired boy was still staring at the testing stick, his expression slack with shock. No help there, at least not for a little while. He tried again. "Weasley."

"Go away." Ron didn't uncover his face, and his voice was muffled.

"Take your hands down before you suffocate yourself."

"WILL YOU JUST GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME ALONE?"

Harry looked up at the raised voice. His face pale, he stalked back toward the bed. "You heard him."

Snape regarded Harry, then said flatly, "Yes, I did, and the last thing in the world he needs is to be alone right now." His voice lowered, "And don't take that tone with me, Potter. -I'm- not the one responsible for this." He gave Harry a pointed stare.

Snape didn't really believe that Harry was the father--he already had a theory on that front, but the hot rush of color that flooded the Gryffindor boy's cheeks answered another question. Ron and Harry were together. He had no way of knowing how long the bond had existed, but judging from the sudden tremble in Potter's hand as he pushed his glasses back up on his nose, it was serious.

Snape turned his attention back to the boy in the bed. His expression didn't soften, but his voice did. "Ron." The sheer surprise prompted Ron to uncover his face. Snape had never before called him by his given name. "I know this is a shock..." Ron gave a sudden bark of laughter. Snape saw the wild look in the boy's eyes, and acted to still the rising hysteria. His voice was like a whip crack. "Get hold of yourself, Weasley!"

Ron gulped, and trembled, but the encroaching frenzy faded. His voice hoarse, he said, "It can be wrong, can't it?"

"It can, but it's hardly likely. These are supposed to be 99% accurate. If you really wish to be certain beyond a shadow of a doubt, we can take a urine sample to a Muggle doctor."

Ron flopped back on the bed, jerking the sheet over his face again. "I wouldn't have to worry about being pregnant, then, because I'll just die of embarrassment."

"Stop it," said Snape. "It isn't as if you're the first wizard to ever get pregnant."

That brought the sheet down again quickly, and Ron sat bolt upright, eyes huge. "Say what?"

Harry was staring at Snape also. "I've never heard of a wizard being pregnant."

"I'm not surprised--you haven't entered your final year yet, and that isn't covered till the last term. Unless your parents chose to tell you, or someone a bit older than you was feeling like doing something," he sneered, "NAUGHTY, you weren't likely to hear about it, as it hasn't happened for well over a dozen generations. No, Ron--pregnancy among wizards is rare, but hardly unheard of."

Harry sat on the side of the bed heavily. "This is... is... But I don't UNDERSTAND. If wizards can get pregnant, why don't more of them? I mean, girls get pregnant all the time--I've heard the Dursley's going on about it for ages. They're terrified some slutty girl will lure their precious Dudley into an indiscretion, and ruin his life by saddling him with a bastard child." He gave Snape a jaundiced look. "Not as if they have anything to worry about. Even if some poor bint was desperate enough, I don't think Dudley's willie could extend far enough past his gut for him to actually shag anyone."

"As fascinating as your Muggle relations are, Potter, we have other matters to deal with. Pomfrey and Dumbledore must be informed at once, the Weasleys must be notified, a specialist in obstetrics should be..."

Snape wasn't prepared for Ron's reaction. The boy bolted from the bed and grabbed Snape's robes, wrapping his fists in the fabric. "NO! You can't! I won't have it, d'you hear?" His voice was rising shrilly.

Snape stared down at him. "Have--you--lost--your--mind?"

Ron suddenly realized what he was doing. Manhandling Snape wasn't on a par with taking on an ogre single-handed, but it was still patently stupid. He let go, and his voice was pleading. "Please."

"Weasley," Snape's voice was quiet, and it had a mildly soothing effect. He gripped Ron's arm and maneuvered him back till he again sat on the bed. "Be sensible. While what is happening to you is not dangerous at this stage, it has to be dealt with. You can't just ignore this and hope it will go away, because it WON'T. Your parents must be told--you know that."

Ron swallowed hard, and tears glistened in the corners of his eyes. "Oh, God. What's Mum going to say? I thought she wasn't ever going to forgive me for taking Dad's flying car, and THIS..."

"Don't go borrowing trouble," said Snape. "Do you want to be present when I inform Dumbledore and Pomfrey?"

"I don't even want to be on the same planet when you tell them," sighed Ron. When Snape gave him a look, he said, "No. I know I need to be with my Mum and Dad when they find out, but I'd just as soon see shock and horror as little as possible."

"Very well. Potter, I'm sure I can trust you to stay here and see that Weasley doesn't do anything ill-considered."

Now Ron flushed. "Are you saying I might try to throw myself down the stairs to get rid of the baby?"

Snape was surprised by the vehemence in the boy's voice. "No, nothing like that. I wouldn't put it past you to try to climb to your room in the Gryffindor Tower, though, and you've already fainted once today. I'll try to be quick." He left the room, thinking, *But I'll admit that I'm worried that the thought even occurred to you, Weasley.*

*****

Madame Pomfrey had accepted a cup of tea, and Snape had declined. Snape said, "Pomfrey, put down the tea for a moment, would you? I'd rather not risk having you scald yourself."

Madame Pomfrey set down the cup and saucer, her forehead wrinkled in concern. "They you've found out what the trouble is with Ron? Is... is it serious?"

"I'm as certain as anyone could be, and it IS serious, but not in the way that you fear." Albus had chosen a Pepper Imp from the jar on his desk, and was unwrapping it. "And hold off on that, Albus. I don't want you choking--the extraction spell is always a little rough on the subject, and I don't want to have to do that uncouth Heimlich thing that Miss Granger showed us."

Dumbledore replaced the candy. "You begin to concern me, Severus. What is wrong with Ron?"

Snape bit his lip, thinking of how he should phrase this. "Well, seen from one perspective--nothing. But in another light, a great deal." He shook his head slightly, then said, "There's no delicate way to put it. The boy's pregnant." There was dead silence in the office, broken only by the tick of Fawkes' claws on his perch. "This is not a prank, I assure you. I used one of the Muggle tests, and these are very accurate. Ron Weasley is with child."

"That..." Dumbledore cleared his throat. "That is most unexpected."

Pomfrey picked up her tea, and her hand shook so that the cup chattered against the saucer, but she gulped the strong brew, and her hand steadied a bit. "No wonder it puzzled me. They taught about this in my specialty courses, but it was put forth mostly as theory, since none of the teachers had ever seen it, and neither had any of THEIR teachers."

"The problem," said Snape, "is that you didn't even know of its possibility till your senior year at Hogwarts, am I correct?" Pink tinted her cheeks, and he threw up his hands, "And even NOW you blush at the mere mention!"

Dumbledore sighed. "This is most distressing. I don't know how we will manage to keep the scandal from damaging any number of people." He shook his head. "And if anyone had been, er, caught out in this manner, I would have thought it would have been Ron's brother William. He was always a wild boy."

"But an educated one," said Snape dryly. "He got into the restricted section when he was fourteen and read everything he could get his hands on."

Dumbledore's eyebrows raised. "How would you know this?"

"I came here to teach in his last year." Snape's expression was inscrutable. "We talked. The point is that I can hardly see laying any blame on the boy. He didn't know that there was anything to be cautious about, so how could he rightly be expected to exercise caution?" He gave Pomfrey and the headmaster sharp looks. "We ARE agreed that any so-called moral objections here are secondary, if not negligible?"

They were. It hadn't even occurred to Pomfrey to be morally shocked. She cared for the students through ALL their injuries and illnesses, and made no judgments. There had been more than one senior female student who'd come to her in terror that they were pregnant. So far they had all been lucky, but she knew it was only a matter of time. Dumbledore... Dumbledore had seen too much of life to judge youthful indiscretions harshly. As long as no one set out to cause harm, much could be forgiven.

"In any case," said Dumbledore, "I don't think this will be as hard on the Weasley's as it would on some. They are perhaps the most closely knit family I have ever known. Ron will have plenty of support. It would take some time for even the swiftest, heartiest owl to reach Haiti. I believe that we should use fire talking to contact them."

There was always a fire burning on Dumbledore's hearth, and two jars sat on his mantelpiece--on of floo powder, and one of fire talking powder. Albus took a pinch from the second jar and closed his eyes in concentration. "I wish to speak to Arthur or Molly Weasley, in Haiti, at the Slippergill Inn." He tossed the powder into the fire, remarking, "At least with the time difference we shan't be waking them up."

After a moment, Arthur Weasley's head appeared in the fire. "Hello?" He peered out. "Dumbledore! This IS a surprise."

"Hello, Arthur. I do hope I'm not disturbing you and your lady wife."

"No, not at all. We've only just gotten back from tea. I'm scheduled to speak with a witch doctor later this evening, but I was just thinking I'd have a nap first. The heat here is quite astounding, and..."

"Arthur, what is it?" The voice was feminine."

Arthur's head turned, as if looking at someone behind him. Of course all the occupants of the office could see was the back of the fireplace, but Arthur must have been looking at his wife in Haiti. "It's Albus Dumbledore, Molly. He..."

"WHAT?!" Her voice was instantly concerned. "Shove over and let me speak to him."

"In a moment. I want to tell him about..."

"Arthur, if it wasn't something important, he'd have just sent an owl. Shove over!"

The fire flickered, and Molly Weasley's head appeared, her expression anxious. "What is it, Albus? It's Ron, isn't it?" Her voice rose. "What's happened to him?"

"Molly, calm down," said Dumbledore firmly. "Ron is healthy and whole."

She slumped in relief, then pursed her lips. "What's he done, then?"

"This is a complicated situation. I think it would be best if you and your good husband came here."

She regarded him silently. They heard Arthur say, "What is it, Mol?"

"Ron's gotten himself into some sort of mess. Albus, could you handle it? We DO have a bit of floo powder with us, but not much."

"It would be best if you were here," said Dumbledore quietly. "Both of you."

There was a muffled discussion, then Molly said, "Right. Arthur can postpone that meeting for a bit. Stand back, would you?" Dumbledore stepped back from the hearth. The flame flared green, and Molly Weasley stepped out of the fireplace, followed quickly by her husband. They were both dressed in light, summery clothes, Mister Weasley favoring short trousers, with long, dark socks. Ron's mother took in the sight of Madame Pomfrey and a grim faced Snape, and the anxiety returned. She looked to Dumbledore, saying accusingly, "You said he was all right."

Snape rose, shooting Madame Pomfrey a look, and she stood also. "Please, sit down."

Arthur Weasley wasn't as fast on the uptake as his wife, but he knew that there was never good news when the teller wanted you to sit down first. He urged his wife down into a chair, then sat himself and took her hand in a firm grip. "Tell us."

"While Ron is not hurt or ill, there IS a physical condition that will have to be dealt with." He sighed, looking at the two tensed parents. "Arthur, Molly--you're going to be grandparents."

Molly frowned. "But Ginny..."

"Oh, my word!" gasped Arthur, eyes going round. "Ron?"

"Don't be silly, Arthur," snapped Molly. "Ron couldn't possibly be pregnant."

"Mrs. Weasley," said Snape, "You DID take Family Living in your Senior year?"

"Of course I did--it was required."

"Then you must know that it IS possible. Improbable, but possible."

"But... but..." Her expression was puckering. "Yes, all right, I remember that it HAS happened. But Ron would never set out to do something like that, and a man has to TRY--it doesn't just HAPPEN, right?"

"In most cases, but strange things happen in the universe. Sometimes events can align just right, and something that you would never believe possible comes to be. I haven't heard the full story from anyone directly involved, but I think I know the circumstances." He shrugged. "What it boils down to is that Ron was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and destiny touched him."

"TOUCHED him?" Her voice was shrill. "It bloody well kicked him in the bollocks!"

Snape's lips twitched. "Colorful, but accurate."

"Are you SURE about this?" asked Arthur. "Did Ron just tell you? I love the boy, but he's unlikely to be able to accurately diagnose a pregnancy."

"No, Ron was quite insistent that it could be nothing of the kind. I performed a Muggle test. They've proved to be accurate for witches as well as Muggle women, and I see no reason why they wouldn't work for a wizard as well."

Arthur was nodding his head. "An EPT test. I understand they've become very accurate in the last few years."

"You and your Muggle objects!" Molly's tone was exasperated, but affectionate. Dumbledore could feel his apprehension easing. If the parents hadn't fallen into rage or hysterics by now, they were probably going to manage this all right. Molly looked at Pomfrey. "How far along is he?"

"I couldn't say, but I understand that he's been having symptoms for several weeks," she replied.

"I believe that the conception took place five weeks ago--give or take a day," said Snape.

Arthur gave him a sharp look. "And how would you know this?" he said suspiciously.

Snape gave him a small, cold smile. "No, you needn't worry about having me about for family reunions in the future, Mister Weasley. I know I haven't the best reputation, but I'm scrupulous when it comes to my students--at least while they're still at Hogwarts. There are certain facts that point to the proper time frame, though no one can say EXACTLY when a child is conceived."

"Well, if it's not you, then who?" said Molly. "Who got my baby into this state?"

Everyone looked at Snape. He shook his head. "I have a few suspicions, but I refuse to say. I won't risk slandering an innocent boy. You'll have to speak to Ron. If HE is willing, I might share my own speculations, but until he agrees, I say nothing."

"Right." Arthur stood up, and Snape thought wryly that he'd never have believed that a man could look dignified while wearing a loose shirt, patterned with gigantic red and purple flowers. Arthur Weasley managed it, somehow. "Let's go have a talk with our boy, Mol. If I know Ron, he'll have worried himself into a fit by now."

As they started toward the door, Molly grumbled, "And I thought I wasn't going to have to worry about something like this, since Ginny is such a shy thing." She looked up at her husband, and her expressions softened slightly. "What do you reckon, Arthur? Will I need to buy pink or blue yarn for the jumpers?"

Paternity, 11: Questions

Ron glared after Snape, arms crossed huffily. "I don't care what he says, he thought I might try to hurt myself to get rid of the baby! The very idea." He glanced at Harry, looking for affirmation of his outrage.

Harry hated to be the bearer of distasteful news, but he felt he had to explain. "Ron, some people do, you know." Ron gave him an incredulous look. "I know it sounds awful, but there it is. I s'pose it isn't much of a problem in the wizarding world--at least I haven't heard much of it. But it IS a problem in the Muggle world, and Snape may not like Muggles, but he knows more about them than most."

Ron snorted. "He probably sees it as 'know thy enemy'." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, and Ron said hesitantly, "It's true, Harry? I mean, I know you wouldn't LIE to me, but... but maybe you're exaggerating a bit?"

Harry took a deep breath. "No. Back on Privet Drive one of the neighbor's girls had to be run to hospital because she'd drunk something nasty. Aunt Petunia took a casserole over to the girl's mum, cooing and all concerned, then came back and told Uncle Vernon that there was no use wasting sympathy on young Tildey because the girl wasn't trying to commit suicide--she'd just been trying to chuck the bun out of her oven."

Ron looked dismayed. "That's awful."

Harry shrugged. "That's the Dursleys." Harry hesitated, then reached over and took Ron's hand. "So, you really don't mind, then?"

"Of COURSE I mind, you nit! I'm seventeen, and I'm not married. No one in my position with half a brain would really want to get pregnant."

Harry winced. "Oh. Sorry."

Ron stared at Harry's downcast expression, and understanding dawned. *He thinks it's his, and I just as good as said I don't want it.* Ron could feel his own eyes stretch wide in dismay, and was glad that Harry was preoccupied, because he didn't know what was showing on his own face, but he knew it wouldn't be soothing or comforting to his friend. *Oh, fucking hell! What if it's DRACO'S?*

Ron hadn't been thinking about who the father might be--he thought he'd been doing rather well just remaining sane, but now... *It could be either of them. Hell, there wasn't more than an hour or so between that screw behind the greenhouse and... and...* He couldn't bring himself to use the same term, not even in his thoughts. *And what I had with Harry. It COULD be either of them.* His jaw firmed, and the notorious Weasley stubbornness flashed in his eyes. *But it isn't.* "Harry, that didn't come out right."

Harry looked up at him, peering over the rim of his glasses. Ron reached out and gently pushed them up on his nose, receiving a faint smile in return. "I could understand. It does complicate your life a lot."

"Understatement of the century, Potter." He peered down at his belly quizzically. "Well, Dad said once that there wasn't anything in the world much more unnatural than a 'planned' baby. I've out-done Fred and George--I've managed to be natural and unnatural, all at once."

He lay back on the bed. "Y'know, I've always known I was going to have kids. You remember the load of cousins, second cousins, cousins-once-removed, cousins-by-marriage, blah, blah, on and on, into the night, that you met at the family reunion last year?" He shrugged. "I'm a Weasley. I just sort of thought that my contribution to the clan wouldn't be quite so INVOLVED."

"You'll be a good Dad," said Harry. He indicated the bed. "Can I...?"

"I wish you would." Harry stretched out beside Ron, snuggling against him. "I think I have a shot at doing well. After all, Dad is a smashing role model. He might not have set the world on fire in his profession, but he's done a good job raising us. None of his kids has really gotten into trouble... um, till now."

"But you didn't set out to do anything wrong, Ron. You just sort of... got caught. And it isn't really your fault. I should have taken care of things."

"Yeah?" Ron's tone was curious. "And just what the hell could you have done?"

"Well, there are, um, things you can use."

"Yeah--rubbers." Ron grinned. "The Muggle world and the Wizarding one overlap in some places, Harry. But can you imagine asking for a box of Wonder Wizard Willie Wraps at the druggist in Hogsmeade?"

Harry blushed. "I don't think I'd be the first. I could have, you know, pulled out."

Ron pushed his hand through Harry's hair. "I'd have hurt you if you'd tried." Harry pressed his face to Ron's throat, stifling a laugh. "Besides, that method is notorious for being ineffective." His voice mimicked every horny teenager who'd ever tried to get into a girl's knickers. "Honest, luv, you don't have to worry! I'll pull out, I swear." He snorted. "Bet there are a lot of kiddies in the world thanks to that line. Anyway, we didn't even know there was anything we needed to try to prevent. Let's face it--Fate needed a laugh, and it's my turn in the barrel."

"You don't have to go through this alone, you know," said Harry quietly.

"I'm not holding you responsible."

"Well, I'm holding MYSELF responsible." Harry leaned up on his elbow, looking down at Ron. "This is my baby, too. I want to be a part of its life, Ron. I want to be a part of YOUR life."

"You already are," said Ron quietly. "You have been for a long time, and you always will be, unless you push me away."

Harry bent and kissed Ron softly. "That won't happen." He smiled. "Not unless your Mum blasts me. Even then, I'll come crawling back."

Both boys were grateful for the hardwood floors out in the hall--it made hearing a group approaching much more likely. Harry sat up quickly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed just before the group entered. Snape, Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and Molly and Arthur Weasley. Ron groaned, and Harry caught the edge of the sheet to keep him from jerking it up over his face.

Ron watched his parents approach. His Dad looked stunned, and his Mum... Well, it was hard to say. Ron glared at Snape and Dumbledore, not sure exactly who to be angry with. He settled on both--it seemed only fair. "You told them." He said accusingly.

"You'd have preferred to do it yourself?" asked Snape, obviously doubtful.

Ron looked at his parents, blinking, then said, "No, I guess not. Hi Mum. Hi Dad."

"Son." Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "Well..." He trailed off, then looked helplessly at the others. "Could we have some time alone, please?"

There was a murmur of agreement. As the other three adults moved back toward the door, Madame Pomfrey called, "I'll be bringing you a glass of milk later, Ron. You're going to have to start watching your diet now. Pregnancy is a strain on anyone's body, and since yours wasn't designed..."

Dumbledore took her arm. "I think the pre-natal lecture can wait a bit, Pomfrey."

Harry got up and started after them, and Arthur said quietly, "Harry? I think you might stay."

The two boys exchanged looks. Molly took the chair beside the bed, and Arthur sat on the edge of the bed. Harry settled gingerly on the other side. There was silence as they all stared at each other. Finally Ron said, "Mum, say something."

"Right." She looked at Harry. "Harry, are you going to make an honest man of my boy?"

"Oh, GOD!" Harry didn't manage to catch the sheet this time.

Arthur said, "Moll, please. We don't even know if... if Harry..."

"And who else would it be? Come on, Arthur, we've discussed this before." The sheet came down, and both of the boys gaped at the adults. Molly continued, "Don't look so shocked, you two. It's been as plain as the nose on your face for years now. Everyone could see it coming except you two. Honestly, Ron, and I thought you were one of my more sensible children. I suppose sensible doesn't necessarily mean perceptive. You were expecting a right good reaming out, weren't you?" Ron nodded. "Don't think that might not come somewhere down the line." Her face softened. "But I don't think you need that right now. If I remember correctly, the first few weeks are rough enough without a load of emotional rubbish being dumped on your head." She laughed. "I thought the only advice on pregnancy I'd have to give my sons would be to coddle their wives. Looks like I can be a bit more practical."

Ron lunged half out of the bed, throwing his arms around his mother's neck, and burying his face against her shoulder. "Mum, I'm so sorry."

While his wife held their son, Arthur reached over and patted his back with awkward gentleness. "Stop it, Ron. A baby's a baby, for all that, and since when have we ever been upset to see one on the way, eh?" His eyes lit up. "Our first grandchild. You're going to have a job on your hands, keeping the uncles and aunt from spoiling it putrid."

Ron chuckled and sat back, wiping his nose. "I expect Mum will have something to say in the matter."

"Don't you count on it," warned his father. "Some people can be martinets with their kids, then go completely soppy with the grandkids."

"Mister and Mrs. Weasley," said Harry quietly.

Arthur shook his head. "Don't you think you ought to call us Arthur and Molly, given the circumstances?"

Harry fidgeted a little. "I dunno if I could. Seems a little disrespectful."

Molly snorted. "Stuff and nonsense. But if you're uncomfortable with it, call us Mum and Dad." She smiled fondly. "It's what I'd expect from anyone else one of my kids settled on."

Arthur sighed, and rubbed his forehead. "Moll, nothing's been settled."

She gave her husband an arch look. "Hasn't it?"

"We couldn't force Harry..."

"And who said anything about force? Lord, Arthur, I'm not suggesting a wand-point wedding. But LOOK at them." Arthur looked. Harry, sitting beside Ron, had taken the other boy's hand, and Ron was leaning against his shoulder. "Harry's been a part of this family since the first time he came over to visit, you know that." She shrugged. "It would just make it official."

Arthur regarded the boys. "I'm not saying I disagree with your Mum, Ron, but have you two even discussed this?"

"Not really," said Harry. "This has sort of taken us by surprise. I don't want to push Ron into anything he isn't ready for, but I'll tell you this..." He was looking down at Ron's hand as he held it, playing with the fingers. "When I found out that the wizarding world sanctions same sex marriages, I was relieved--and happy."

Molly nodded. "I know there are factions that believe we should be more open with the Muggles, but I say that if they can't deal with such a basic, simple concept as love being love, they aren't ready to deal with magic users."

Ron was looking between his parents, and Harry. His feelings at the moment were mainly relief that his parents weren't angry with him, and that Harry wasn't either. But there was a tiny corner of his mind that was screaming, 'Too fast! Too fast!' He said, "This doesn't all have to be settled right now, does it? I mean, I don't have to lay out a plan for the next twenty or so years of my life before you and Dad leave the room, do I?"

"No one wants to rush you, Ron," said Mr. Weasley kindly. "But you have to know that decisions must be made SOON." He smiled, indicating Ron's belly. "We are on a schedule of sorts."

Ron took a deep breath. "Yeah, but it can wait a few weeks. I need some time to think about all this."

Molly was nodding, "When we get home, you can..."

"Mum, I don't want to go right home."

She frowned. "But Ron, you NEED to be home now, where you can be supported, and taken care of."

"I can get that here at Hogwarts. Oh, I know it won't be the same." He grinned at her. "The house elves are all right, but they can't do bilberry muffins like you, Mum. But I think that you and Dad need to go back and finish your trip. Dad, you know that it will look bad on your record if you cut it short."

"But," he protested, "surely they'll take into consideration if it's a family emergency."

"They should, but since when has beaurocracy ever been really bound by should? Anyway, this doesn't qualify as an emergency. A SITUATION, yes--emergency, no. Nothing's really going to happen for months yet."

"But, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, "would you be comfortable staying here? I'm sure that Dumbledore, Pomfrey, and Professor Snape wouldn't spread tales, but things have a way of getting around such enclosed communities."

"Don't you think tongues would wag if I was suddenly just whisked away with no explanation? No, let's stick to the original plan. Let me finish out the summer here. If it seems best, I can go back home at the beginning of term. This will give me time to think things through." When his mother still looked doubtful, Ron said firmly, "Mum, if this doesn't indicate I need to start taking control of my life, I don't know what would. I'm going to have to make decisions for myself, and my baby. Let me start now."

Arthur patted his wife's hand. "He's right, Moll." He smiled. "And I'll be switched if I'm not proud of him for standing up. All right, Ron, you have your time. I know that they'll take excellent care of you here--staff," he gave Harry a warm look, "and others. I'll have Gringott's wire a few galleons to you." When Ron started to protest, knowing what their family budget was like, Arthur waved him off. "No, I'm doing this. You may need things. We had a bit set aside for a special occasion, and I guess this qualifies. Now, how do you want to handle this with your sister and brothers? Do you want to tell them, or shall we?"

"Christ, there's another pickle. I'm not sure. Wait, I AM sure about one thing--I want you two to tell Fred and George. I'm going to need a little space between me and their initial reaction. But hold off a bit, eh? I'll let you know. As for the others... I don't know. I expect I'll either owl them or talk through the fire in a week or two."

"As you say, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. She stood and kissed her son on the cheek. "Just let us know when you've done, because I know they're going to want to talk about it."

Mr. Weasley stood, and rummaged in his pocket. "I know I have it here somewhere... ah!" He pulled out a twist of paper and handed it to Ron. "Here, powder for fire talking. Get yourself some more as soon as you can, and I want you to USE it. I expect an owl or a talk every day, mind."

Arthur Weasley leaned over and hugged his son. The Weasley's casual, matter-of-fact affection for each other was expressed physically as well as verbally, and that wasn't something Harry was used to. The most affectionate touch he'd ever gotten at home was a cuff on the ear or a bruising shake. It was one of the reasons that what he had now with Ron was so special to him. All his life he'd CRAVED warmth and closeness, and it looked like he'd finally found it.

Arthur shook hands with the boy. "Harry. I know I don't need to ask you to look after Ron. You always have done."

"We do it for each other, sir."

Weasley nodded with satisfaction. "As it should be."

Mrs. Weasley gave Harry a hug, then smiled at him, tapping him on the nose. "I hope the baby has green eyes." She leaned over to drop a peck on his cheek, and whispered in his ear, "And start thinking about what you want for your joining ceremony. It always seems like one of the partners is stuck making most of the arrangements, and it looks like you'll be the one. Don't worry, I won't interfere--much."

They left. The moment they were gone, Ron heaved a huge sigh of relief, then looked at Harry. "Well, all body parts are still firmly attached."

"You shouldn't have expected any less."

"Oh, I knew they'd accept it--eventually. I'm just a bit surprised that they're so easy with it. I guess they must have been more grandchild hungry than I thought, even if Mum HAS been muttering about she's too young to be a gran."

Madame Pomfrey came in, carrying a tray. "Here you are, Ron. The house elves have been quite worried about you." She set the tray down on the bedside stand. "They made some caramel custard tarts special for you. Harry, I brought enough for two."

Ron eyed the two golden tarts hungrily, then said hopefully, "I'm eating for two now."

"Nice try." Harry took one of the tarts. "You won't be able to get away with that excuse for another couple of weeks."

"Drink every drop of that milk, young Weasley," Madame Pomfrey warned. "You young ones drink entirely too much butterbeer and Chocopunch these days. You're going to need that calcium, and..."

"Lectures have started, eh?"

Madame Pomfrey smiled. "I'm sorry, Ron, but it's what I do. We can wait a day or so, but you WILL be hearing quite a bit about how to stay healthy, now that you're expecting. I'm quite excited. No one else I know has ever had care of a pregnant male. I'm going to the library to see if I can't find some material, and if there isn't much there, I'll be contacting the Medical Specialty Board."

Ron looked up in alarm. "You won't be telling them about this?"

"Oh, no, dear--no. Not till you give permission. They won't be too curious if I just ask for information. They're always happy if someone wants to learn more about the more obscure parts of medical science." She looked at Harry. "I know it's still fairly early, but he's had a hard day, and he should go to sleep soon."

Ron said, "Pom, there's no one else here. Couldn't Harry stay?" He gestured at the other empty beds. "There's plenty of room."

She frowned. "It's against the rules."

"Oh, come on," Harry chided. "It isn't as if it's contagious."

She had to smile. "Well... I think in this case it can be argued that it's best for the patient's peace of mind. Take any bed you like."

She left. Ron bit into one of the tarts, and rolled his eyes. "Wonderful!" He finished his in two bites, while Harry watched, amused. Licking crumbs off his fingers, he eyed the bite that Harry still held, then pointed. "If you loved me, you'd give me that."

"You're an opportunistic brat, Ron Weasley," said Harry, amused. "Open." Ron opened his mouth, and Harry popped the morsel in. "Are you going to develop strange cravings? I've heard that Aunt Petunia went mad for India relish and radishes when she was expecting Dudley."

"That would explain a lot about his personality. I'm just lucky that Hagrid isn't about right now. He's had care of pregnant magical beasts before, and I'm afraid that a pregnant wizard would be too much for him to resist. He'd probably be hauling out tons of dusty tomes, telling me exactly what I had to do, including, um, grazing on twitch thistles under a full moon."

"Drink your milk," Harry ordered.

Ron drank it willingly enough, but said, "I have the feeling that I'm going to get right tired of people telling me what to do 'for my own good'." He yawned. "I also hate being told when to go to bed, but I think it's a good idea right now." He snuggled down in the bed, then gave Harry a sleepy smile. "She said you could sleep wherever you liked."

That night, before she went to bed herself, Madame Pomfrey went to the infirmary to check on Ron one last time. The long room was very quiet. It was dimly lit by a few perpetual lamps, but she could easily make out Ron Weasley's red hair gleaming on his pillow, at the end of the room. She stepped toward him softly, not wanting to wake him up till absolutely necessary.

Then she paused. There was a second head on the pillow--a dark one. Harry was cuddled against Ron, his nose pressed to the other boy's cheek. They both looked very young, and quite contented. She smiled to herself, turned, and left without waking them.

Paternity 12

Ron glared at Pomfrey, consternation clear in his expression. "I don't want to give up my summer job!"

Pomfrey folded her hands primly against her apron. "That's too bad, Ron, but you must. Some exercise is not only advisable--it's mandatory, but you're NOT to be doing heavy labor. It's non-negotiable."

Ron had been given permission to leave the infirmary that next morning, and he'd just been lacing up his shoes when Pomfrey dropped the bombshell. He was sitting beside Harry on his bed, staring at the plump nurse in dismay. "I should think it wouldn't be a hardship to give up what has to be hard, tiring, boring, dirty work," she said. "I know the sort of tasks Filch would set for you."

"Yeah, they are, but..." he sighed heavily. "Drat it! It's the first time I've ever been able to earn real money." His voice was sad. "I liked having a bit of a jingle in my pockets."

"I'm sure they can find some sort of work for you about the school," said Pomfrey kindly. "Goodness knows there's enough dust-catchers that need to be cleaned." She picked up the two trays that contained the scant remains of the boys' breakfasts. "You're free to go when you like, Ron. Just remember not to over-do."

As she walked away, Ron wrinkled his nose. "Dusting. House elf work."

Harry poked him. "Good job Hermione isn't here to catch you at that. She'd have burned your ears."

Ron fell backwards, laying across the bed with his legs dangling over the side. "Oh, come on, Harry. Y'know I don't mean it. I quite appreciate the little devils, since I have to do without them at home." His voice was wistful. "I'd like to make enough to buy a contract for one for my Mum some day."

Harry laid down on his stomach beside Ron. "Is that how it's done? I thought they were inherited."

Ron shrugged. "They are, sort of. Bonds are passed down, any way. But they have kids, yeah? Not many, but they do. And when the kids grow up, sometimes they contract out to work for other families, since the original one doesn't need all of 'em." Ron frowned. "That can get kind of nasty, I think. Imagine what it would be like if the family sold off the services of a house elf away from his family when he really didn't want to go?" He thought for a moment. "Maybe Hermione had a point about this."

"Her heart's in the right place," Harry agreed. "It's just that she can be a bit too forceful in her methods. Needs to learn subtlety, that girl."

"Nah. Why would we want her more Slytherin than she has to be?" Ron rolled over quickly, coming to rest on top of Harry.

"Oof! Damn, Ron, should you have gained this much weight this early on?" said Harry jokingly. Ron suddenly rolled off him again, but this time he kept rolling till his face was pressed into the mattress, fists clenching at the sheets. "Ron?" Harry touched his friend's back, and was shocked to feel how tense he was. He was even more shocked when Ron jerked, trying to throw off his touch. "What's wrong?"

Ron's voice was muffled. "I know I'm getting fat. You needn't REMIND me."

Harry blinked. He'd made the same sort of joshing comment to Ron hundreds of times before, and he'd never reacted like this. *Oo, but he's never been preggers before, either. I remember Uncle Vernon saying that Aunt Petunia was a right Tarter when she was carrying Dudley. He said it was the hormones playing up. Sweet as pie, smother you with kindness one minute, weeping over nothing or tearing your head off the next.* "Ron, I didn't mean it. I was just larking about. Honestly," he touched Ron again. The tension was still there, but the other boy didn't try to throw his touch off. "It was a stupid joke, and I'm sorry, all right?" He shook Ron gently. "All right?"

Ron sighed, turning his head to gaze at Harry. "Gosh, I sounded just like Pansy Parkinson." He made his voice treble. "Does this robe make my bum look fat?" His voice dropped to its natural register, but sounded falsely earnest. "Why, no, Pansy! You'd have to wear a pillow for your bum to look fat. By the by, do you HAVE a bum?" Harry laughed in relief. "Seriously, Harry--exactly how girlie is this going to make me? Am I going to start worrying about matching accessories, and taking an hour to get my hair just so?"

"Unfair. Hermione isn't like that."

"Harry--it's HERMIONE." He frowned. "Do you reckon she's gay?"

"Two words--Victor Krum."

Ron gestured dismissively as he turned on his back again. "Yeah, but look how long that's been going on, and 'Miney can still handle the unicorn horn in potions without gloves. Maybe she's bi."

Harry was watching him in amusement. He'd known Ron was fairly easygoing, but he'd had no idea of his laissez faire attitude toward sex till they'd started sleeping together. "Afraid she'll seduce Ginny?"

Ron snorted. "Why? She's a friend, and she's got a sense of responsibility that won't quit. Ginny could do a lot worse, though 'Miney would make a snippety sister-in-law. I'm just thinking it would be a bit unfair to Mum, having three of us turn out gay. She doesn't talk about it much, but she wants enough grandkids to burst walls."

"Being gay doesn't appear to be that much of a hurdle in that department," said Harry wryly, gently touching Ron's belly.

Ron frowned, his hand following the path Harry's had taken. "How did this happen?" At Harry's arched eyebrow he said, "I KNOW that, you perv. I meant... how? I don't know much about this, but it's pretty clear that usually there'd be some real effort involved in a wizard getting pregnant, and I seem to have just fallen into it."

"I suppose Dumbledore might give us access to the Restricted Section, if we asked."

"Bleh. Too much like studying, and we'd probably have to wade through a ton of stuff that had no bearing, just to find the bits of facts we'd be looking for. I'd rather talk to someone who could answer questions."

"I'm sure Snape wouldn't mind."

"Harry, SNAPE?!"

"Ron, the other alternatives are Pomfrey and Dumbledore. D'you REALLY want to blush the poor old darling to death? And Dumbledore..." Harry squirmed slightly.

Ron nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. He's kind, but it would be sort of like making a really embarrassing confession to the vicar." He sighed. "You're right. Besides, Snape seems to be the one who knows the most, and has the least problem with handing over the knowledge." He stood up. "Right. Forward into the breech, dear friend, and all that rot."

They found Snape in his office, going over some papers and making notes. Ron said, "Professor, haven't you done with the term's work? You don't strike me as the sort to let it slide."

"I'm not. I'm making a record of some of Longbottom's more spectacular disasters. I'm considering writing a paper to be titled 'What Not To Do in Potion Brewing'."

"You'll have fertile ground there," commented Harry.

"Indeed. If I go back to his first year, I may very well have enough material for a book." He put his quill down and gestured toward a pair of chairs before his desk. "I assume you're here for some purpose?" Harry and Ron sat, then exchanged glances. "Oh, come on. You two have been through what is possibly the most embarrassing moment of your lives, if not the most stressful. Surely whatever you're here for can't be any worse."

Ron nodded, then said. "I know the basics of how this happens. You know, tab A goes into slot B, squirt, you're caught. But it obviously doesn't work every time, or I know for a fact I wouldn't be the first Hogwarts boy up this particular spout. It apparently doesn't work even as often as it does if you've got a mixed pair. So my question is... WHY THE BLOODY HELL ME?" Ron's voice had been rising gradually, and the last few words were belligerent. Harry reached over and squeezed his arm in warning and support. Ron took a deep breath. "Sorry."

Snape's expression, oddly enough, was not irritated, or condemning. "It isn't as if you don't have reason, Weasley, but you need to remember that flying off the handle does you no good, and CAN do you harm. You'll want to watch your blood pressure, in your condition. It's a perfectly reasonable question, and I think I can answer it."

Snape opened his desk drawer and removed an envelope. He took a pair of tweezers from a small penholder, opened it envelope, and extracted a single leaf. Depositing it on his blotter, he said, "Does this look familiar to you?" Harry leaned forward, hand extended, and Snape said sharply, "Don't touch it!" Harry jerked his hand back, and Snape said, "You saw how I handled it, Potter. I'm going to excuse your lack of observation, since you're a bit distracted right now. Don't touch that unless you really want to risk getting in the same state your friend is." One eyebrow climbed. "Of course, I have no idea of the..." he paused, "dynamics of your relationship, so that might not be an issue with you, but it's still better safe than sorry. One does not risk effects when it can be avoided."

Ron was a trifle paler. "Yeah, I recognize it. What is it?"

"It's called fecundus. You both know what fecund means, don't you?"

They nodded, and Ron suddenly sat back in his chair. "Oh, bugger me!"

Snape sighed. "Perhaps another choice of terms?"

"How about sod it all?"

"Appropriate enough. Then I can assume that you've come in contact with this recently?"

"Yeah, I have."

Harry was examining the leaf, hands kept carefully away from it. "That looks like what's in the restricted patch behind the greenhouse. Oh, Ron, you didn't!"

"Well, it wasn't really on purpose, Harry. I wanted to look for a textbook I thought I'd left in the greenhouse on that first night, and I was worried that I'd be seen coming back, so I took a cut. And... I tripped."

"Restricted areas are restricted for a reason."

Ron gave Harry a sharp look. "Oh, I KNOW that YOU didn't just say that to ME." Harry blushed, thinking of all the times he had, himself, trespassed--all in a good cause.

Snape had replaced the leaf. Now he handed the envelope to Harry. "Potter, please take this to the classroom. Put it back in the supply closet. I want it on the top shelf, out of reach of casual rummages, so be careful to use a good, sturdy stool. The last thing we need is you breaking your fool neck."

Harry left, and Snape and Ron eyed each other for a second. Snape opened his drawer again and extracted another envelope. "That should give us a few minutes. I got Potter out of the room, because I have something else here, and I think perhaps you'd rather he didn't know about it." Snape opened the envelope and, using the tweezers, extracted a single bright red seed. Ron started visibly, the fast drain of color from his cheeks making his freckles stand out. "Yes, I thought so. This is a subitus libido seed. I don't suppose I need to tell you what effect it has. No?"

"No," Ron whispered. He looked at Snape desperately. "Don't tell Harry! He... It might make him doubt that I... You know. I dunno, maybe the seeds gave me a push, but it would have happened anyway."

"I won't tell Potter, Weasley. That's left to your own discretion." Snape replaced the seed, then put the envelope in his drawer again. "But this DOES lead me to another rather difficult situation. On the day I found this, and the leaf, I was using a detect magikal power traces spell." His voice became softer. "Ron, Draco Malfoy's hands were practically bloody with the trace subitus trace, and the fecundus trace made both of you glow like a full moon."

There was silence in the office. Ron's expression had been anguished, but then it became blank. Then, slowly, his eyebrows lowered, and his jaw set. "So?" Snape stared at him. Ron repeated, "So? Whatever happened with Draco has nothing to do with me."

"Ron..."

"Nothing!" Ron gritted his teeth. He put his hands on the desk and leaned forward, saying slowly, "I---won't---have---it. This is between Harry and me, end of story."

Snape considered him. "Responsibilities are involved. Bloodlines..."

Ron barked with laughter. "Oh, don't bring THAT up! You know bloody well that the Malfoys would shit stones if they thought they were involved with the Weasleys, and the Weasleys... Bloodlines? We could give a toss."

They heard footsteps in the hall, and Ron gave Severus a hard look. The potions master shrugged. "He won't hear it from me. But Weasley... you should consider telling SOMEONE. That sort of thing is a heavy burden for anyone, let alone someone in your stressful situation. Consider it."

"Right," said Ron, starting for the door to meet Harry. "I'll consider it right after I consider breeding pigs with wings."

Part Fourteen: Premonition

Authors notes: Borstal--term for British juvenile prison, system disbanded in the 80s. Anisa--a licorice flavored herb. Thought the name would be appropriate for a Malfoy.

The demerits accomplished what they were meant to--there were no clashes between the Slytherins and Gryffindors for the next few days. Of course, part of that was due to the fact that the house elves had, upon request, been happy to bring Ron and Harry their dinner on trays. The boys slipped down to the kitchens early and ate there much fussed over by the tiny, twittering creatures. Ron remarked that he'd heard of being killed with kindness, but he'd never understood what it meant until now.

Ron had been forbidden heavy work, but he managed to convince Pomfrey and Snape that dusting and polishing wouldn't be dangerous. "And if anyone had ever told me that I'd be ASKING to do housework, I'd have made a reservation for them in the nearest loony bin."

Filch grumbled a bit about losing one of his workers, but it gave him an excuse to pile even dirtier, more tedious jobs on Harry. One afternoon, about a week after the food fight, Harry nearly sent Ron into a laughing fit. The other boy was so spattered with white from head to toe that Ron exclaimed dramatically, "Oh, God, I knew it would happen! Voldemort got Harry, and now his ghost has come back to haunt me! Are you going to be challenging Nearly Headless Nick for the position of Gryffindor ghost, Harry?"

"Hah, bloody hah, Ron. I was whitewashing the magical beasts' stable, and Fang came in."

"Oh, dear."

"Yeah. He's been kipping down in the stable while Hagrid's gone, so he's comfortable enough, and the house elves have been keeping him well fed, but he's LONELY." Harry picked at his clothes. "He wanted a romp, and when something THAT big wants a romp, you don't really have much choice about whether or not you're going to participate." Harry went to his trunk and got a change of clothing. Starting for the door, he said, "And you can just get that gleam out of your eyes, Ron Weasley. I'm washing, and that's ALL I'm doing."

"Spoil sport."

"Horny bastard."

"It's my hormones."

"Excuses, excuses." Ron stuck out his tongue. "I told you no." They shared a laugh as Harry left for the lavatory.

Ron flopped on his bed. He'd polished half the cups in the trophy room, and was feeling more tired than he'd admit. He let his mind drift for a few moments, then became conscious of his position--his hands were clasped over his belly. Ron stared down at the intertwined fingers, cocking his head. He tried to decide if they were resting any higher than they had before. He wondered when he'd really begin showing. Probably sooner than girls did. He wasn't sure exactly how it worked, but he had an idea that the wider hips sort of camouflaged things a little for them. He had better sense than to ever mention that to any female he knew, though. He hadn't had all that much experience with women, but he had an idea that talking about their hips was dangerous business.

He spread his fingers, considering, but he still didn't feel a bulge. "Cripes," Ron muttered. "What am I going to do when I DO start to show? Only so much of it can be passed off as too many chocolate frogs." *I could say that I had the bloat, or something, but then everyone would expect me to be in the infirmary all the time, and still, that would be good for only so long, even if Pomfrey agreed to fib about it. I mean, I wouldn't swell just in the gut, unless I had a tumor or something, and everyone would know that I'd be sent to hospital if it was that serious.*

He was still looking thoughtful when Harry returned, damp hair sticking up in dark spikes. "Cor, Harry, I know you have a hard time controlling your mop, but you might at least TRY. Get over here." He pulled out a comb and patted the mattress. Harry came and sat beside him, and Ron began to comb Harry's hair. "I've been thinking. If I was to wear my robes closed, how long d'ya suppose I could hide my, er, expansion?"

"I dunno. It's not something I've ever thought much about. From what I hear, every pregnancy is different. Some people don't need to wear maternity clothes till their seventh or eighth month, and some can't snap their jeans the day after they get preggers."

Ron sighed. "Well, I'm only about a month and a half along now, so there's no telling which side of the median I'll fall on." He took hold of Harry's chin and turned his head from side to side, inspecting him critically.

Amused, Harry said, "Satisfied?"

"Hell, I know it will last five seconds after it dries, but at least I know I tried."

"Not going to be trying to change me, are you, Ron?"

"Not much, but I don't want the father of my baby running around looking like he just got out of Borstal."

"Look, Ron, quit worrying about it, eh? I trust Snape, Dumbledore, and Pomfrey to keep their traps shut about this. Aside from them and your parents, no one else has any idea." Harry squeezed Ron's shoulder reassuringly. "It's so improbable that it's highly unlikely anyone will consider it as a possibility."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Sir?"

Lucius Malfoy did not look up from his cards. "Be quiet, fool." The steward stepped back, cheeks flaming, then paling. He had not wanted to interrupt Malfoy at his whist game. The wizard was notoriously impatient with any form off annoyance or inconvenience. But the steward thought of the individual who had so coldly declared that no, she would NOT be pleased to wait till the set was over to speak to him. He folded his hand and waited. He would NOT be leaving without delivering the message.

Lucius finished the hand, completing it to his satisfaction. Therefore he was feeling a bit magnanimous, and did not turn the presumptuous servant into a toad. "What is it?"

"A Miss Anisa Malfoy desires to speak to you. She says that it is a matter of importance."

Lucius stood abruptly, snapping, "Why didn't you TELL me, idiot? Show me to her immediately." Prudently not responding, the steward led Lucius from the card room to one of the hotel's small salons.

She was sitting on a small, plump, upholstered love seat, perched rigidly on the very edge. Lucius thought that he had never seen the woman's spine anything but severely straight. He wasn't sure how much of it was due to posture, how much was iron will, and how much was the result of ruthlessly rigorous corseting. The general Malfoy blonde hair had gone silver, but it was thin, and fine. The single braid that was coiled at the base of her neck was very long, but no thicker at the base than his thumb.

His great-aunt was a rail thin woman, and the elegant Malfoy features had thinned and sharpened with age. Lucius had no idea of her actual age, but his earliest memories of her did not differ a particle from her present appearance. Lucius stopped before her, and bowed slightly. "Great Aunt."

"Lucius. I do hope you are teaching your child better manners than to keep his elders waiting." Her voice was dry.

Lucius shot a hostile look at the steward. "I can't be held accountable for the failure of others."

"That's an excuse, Lucius--and a rather shoddy one at that."

Anxious to be away from whatever unpleasantness was about to commence, the steward said, "Madam, is there anything else you require?"

"It is Miss, and I require your absence. Leave us." He did so, as quickly as possible.

Lucius remained standing before the elderly woman. As a child, it hadn't taken more than one or two hard smacks to teach him not to sit before his elders unless invited to do so. Though he was no longer physically afraid of the old woman, he knew that she was not without power, and he would not antagonize her if he could help it. "I was given to understand that you had something important to impart?"

She was studying him with eyes that were the color of week old London slush--and just as warm. "It is traditional to offer congratulations in a situation such as this."

Lucius frowned. "I don't understand. Situation? We take a vacation every year."

She snorted softly. "Well, either you are being remarkably obtuse, or your wife keeps secrets from you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You are aware of my singular familial talent."

"Of course." Great Aunt Anisa had one of the inexplicable, and completely unpredictable, talents that sometimes cropped up in witches and wizards. For three generations, Anisa had known before anyone else any time a Malfoy had conceived, or sired a child. Though the stock had thinned out considerably in the past decade, she had never been missed an actual pregnancy, and she had never made a false pronouncement.

"So, the Malfoy line will once again bear fruit. Narcissa is currently the only family member of child bearing age, and so I have come to offer congratulations."

Lucius' expression was frozen. He snatched up the small bell sitting on a side table and rang it with an impatient jerk. The reluctant steward returned, and Lucius snapped, "Get my wife--now." The hotel employee hurried off, and Lucius began to pace quickly. "You're absolutely sure?"

"Do not insult me, young man."

"But there are other female family members."

Anisa snorted. "There's your Aunt Clementa, but she's over fifty, and as plain as a mud fence. It's hardly likely. Your cousin Tiberius had that unfortunate virus, and will have no more children, and his daughter is only twelve."

Lucius arched a pale eyebrow. "Malfoys have been known to be preconscious."

Anisa matched his expression. "Indeed--but not in this case. I have been to see the child myself, and she is... still a child. No, Lucius--your branch is the only one capable of this blessed event at this time."

"I don't know how bloody 'blessed' it is," he growled.

Narcissa entered the room, eyes skittering nervously between her husband and his relative. He went to stand beside Lucius, and nodded to Anisa. "Great Aunt, what a pleasant surprise." She looked at her husband questioning.

Lucius did not bother to be tactful. "Are you pregnant?"

Narcissa blinked, stunned. "Lucius! I--why are you asking me that?"

He clenched his hands into fists, and she had to brace herself to keep from flinching back. "Why do you think?" He gestured at Anisa. "You know that she knew that Draco was on the way before we did. Well, she says there's going to be another Malfoy heir..." color was rising in his pale face, "and I TOLD you that this is NOT the time! There's no telling when the final conflict will come, and I won't have time to worry about you and another brat."

"But Lucius... No, I've taken every precaution." She looked at Anisa pleadingly. "I swear, I'm not pregnant! At least I don't... think... so..." Anisa was studying her, eyes sharp as knives.

Lucius grabbed her arm, fingers sinking deep into soft flesh, and gritted, "You don't THINK?"

"Lucius, cease!" Anisa's voice rapped out. "She's telling the truth. She isn't expecting. There isn't a spark of new life about her." There was pity bordering on contempt in her voice. "The poor thing seems only half-alive herself."

Narcissa wilted in relief as Lucius released her. "But you said that Narcissa was the only likely candidate."

Anisa cocked her head. "The premonition is for when a female Malfoy conceives, or a male Malfoy sows his seed. Any other possibilities, Lucius?"

He scowled. "No. When would I have time?"

Anisa closed her eye briefly. "Your density sometimes amazes me. How old is Draco?"

For a brief moment the two women were treated to a very rare sight--Lucius Malfoy looking foolishly surprised. His mouth actually hung open for a moment. Then it closed into a tight line, brows lowering, and he hissed, "I will kill the boy."

"You will not," said Anisa firmly. "Lord, it wouldn't be the first time a pure blood wizarding family had a member born on the wrong side of the blanket. You'll just have to look into the situation and decide whether there's going to be a fast wedding, or an even faster pay-off. If the girl is the least bit acceptable, I'd advise you to have Draco marry her. A suitable wife can be a great asset in society, and if she's a bit rough around the edges, Narcissa and I will be able to smooth her out quickly enough."

"What if she doesn't want to marry him?" Lucius and Anisa looked at Narcissa as if she'd lost her mind. "I love Draco, but I know that he's not easy to love."

Lucius snorted. "Love. I thought you'd gained enough wisdom to realize that love was hardly a necessity for marriage."

Even after all these years, Lucius' coldness could still sting. "It is for some. And what about the baby? If Draco is the father, he has a responsibility..."

"If the silly wench wouldn't take the proper precautions, my son can't be held..."

"Lucius," said Anisa, "there is no need for you to argue with us. Save it for the girl and her parents. In any case, even if the mother isn't up to Malfoy standards, there's still the baby to consider."

"I don't see why I should help support a child I'm not going to raise," Lucius insisted.

Anisa's eyes glittered. "Lucius," she said severely, "whatever the genealogy of the other branch of the child's family tree, it will be a Malfoy, and our bloodline is capable of overcoming many weaknesses. While I cannot dictate to you," she smiled grimly, "and yes, I admit that--I must suggest strongly that you consider taking the child in and rearing it. It would be shockingly damaging to the family reputation if it was known that a Malfoy was being raised by a lesser family."

Narcissa said, "But if the mother doesn't want to marry Draco..." She trailed off as the other two gave her cynical looks. Narcissa shook her head. "No. No, I can't believe that a mother would give up her baby like that."

"How touchingly naive," said Lucius dryly. "Besides, my dear, if I should decide that is how it should be," his voice lowered, becoming silky, and Narcissa shuddered, "You know how persuasive I can be."

Paternity 15

Authors notes: Ron is about seven weeks along here.

"Well," said Ron, "Two less Slytherin to worry about. Malfoy has apparently been so beastly to Eamon Pinkham that he talked his parents into letting him go home for the rest of the holidays, and Pansy Parkinson is off to her aunt's."

Harry looked up from his book. "What? Where did you hear this?"

"From Filch." Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh, he didn't volunteer the information. He was muttering to himself just now in the front hall--cursing about having to help them get their trunks down to the station. I wish it was Malfoy who was going, but I s'pose that old Lucius is pretty much tantrum-proof."

Harry closed the book, and stretched. "Fancy a walk before supper?"

Ron gave him a jaundiced look. "You mean that since I didn't exercise this afternoon, it's time for it now."

Harry stood, an amused, but determined glint in his eyes. "Don't make me put you in a head-lock and drag you, Weasley. It's damned awkward, and my shoulder cramps after a bit."

"Nag, nag, nag." Ron started toward the door.

"Wait." Harry caught up to Ron, and handed him a sweater.

Ron stared at it in disbelief. "Harry, it's SUMMER."

"But the sun will be down soon, and it might get chilly."

"When did you turn into my Mum?" He thrust the sweater back to Harry. "If you insist on bringing it along, YOU carry the bloody thing. I won't tie it about my neck or waist. I may be pregnant, but I don't care to look effeminate if I can help it."

They made their way downstairs and took a stroll around the grounds, talking idly as they ambled. "Have you started thinking about names?" Harry asked as they walked beside the lake.

"Bit early for that, isn't it?" said Ron. "The mite isn't much more than a half-inch long now--not much bigger than a good sized lima bean."

"Yeah, but it has a beating heart, arms, legs, eyes, mouth, tongue..."

"...and a tail. You've been reading pre-natal books, haven't you?"

"So've you."

Ron shrugged. "Yeah. I figure that since my body's decided to go barking mad, I might as well keep abreast of what's going on."

"Anyway, I figure if it has a beating heart, it's time to at least consider who it's going to be."

Ron grunted, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I guess it might be a good idea to give it some consideration if I want any say in it at all. Mum's going to have very definite ideas, and she's that determined when she sets her mind on something."

"So, what d'you think?"

Ron paused, moodily kicking a stone into the water. A water pixie popped its head up, chattered at him briefly, then submerged again. "Well... I know I don't want anything too lah-di-dah. You know, not one of the names that the Yanks use when they want to do a stereotype of an Englishman."

"Like Nigel?"

Ron grinned. "Or Percy, or Giles."

"Oh, I don't know. I quite like that Watcher fellow on Buffy the Vampire Slayer." Ron gave him a blank look. "Right. I keep forgetting that you don't watch Muggle television much."

"No, but judging from what I hear about it from you, I'm getting one when I move out on my own. And none of those girl-names-used-as-boy-names, either. Bloody hell, sexual identity is hard enough without naming a lad Beverly, Vivien, Shirley, or Evelyn. What the hell got into people when they came up with that concept, anyway? You don't run into any girls named Ron or Harry." Ron scratched his head thoughtfully, then said, almost shyly, "I wouldn't mind naming a boy Arthur."

Harry smiled at him. "That sounds quite nice."

"But I don't know how the other boys would take to it. I mean, what if Charlie or Bill want to use that name for one of their kids?"

"Pardon me if I'm wrong, Ron, but haven't things always worked pretty much on a 'first come, first served' status in your family? Besides, they could always do it if they wanted to. It's just that your son would be Arthur the Second, and theirs would be the third."

Ron frowned. "Wouldn't Arthur the Second have to have a kid and then that one be named the Third?"

Harry looked blank. "Well, you've got me there."

"Let's leave that for now. It's just an idea. Anyway, as much as I love Mum, I wouldn't name my daughter after her." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't ever tell her I said that, but I always thought that Molly was a better name for the family pet--a dog or a cat."

Harry had a good laugh over that. "Oh, God, Ron. Thank heavens you had the good sense to confess that to me and not Fred or George."

"Do I LOOK mad?" He gave Harry a glance that was almost shy. "If it's a girl... Harry, if you wouldn't mind, I've always liked your mother's name."

Harry's expression softened. "Lily?"

Ron nodded. "It's feminine, but not girlie, know what I mean?"

"I think so. If it's what you'd like, I'd be honored Ron."

Ron was flushing slightly. "Yeah, well, it's a thought," he said gruffly. "I think I've had enough fresh air. Let's go back." They turned and headed back toward the entrance of the school. "Y'know, Harry, your Mum's the only flower named girl I've run across who was worth anything. I mean, there's Pansy Parkinson, and your aunt Petunia..."

"Please, Ron, my stomach. But you're right. There's a Muggle telly show where there's some absolute horrors named Hyacinth, Daisy, and Rose. But Fleur from Beau Baton wasn't so bad--just a tad stuck up at first." He stopped abruptly. "Oh, bloody hell!"

"What is it?"

Ron gestured. "Not only have we not gotten rid of one Malfoy, we've acquired another. I'm not a coward, Harry, but let's just step behind that bush till Lucius Malfoy has stormed inside."

Harry eyed the tall, pale-haired figure stalking up the road and said, "This isn't cowardice, Ron--it's just good sense to avoid an unnecessary unpleasantness."

Both boys ducked behind a thick stand of shrubbery before the obviously preoccupied Lucius spotted them. After he'd passed Ron whispered. "I'd say maybe he's come to take Draco away, but from the look on his face it's more likely that he intends to strangle him."

"Or strangle somebody, anyway," agreed Harry. "It should be safe to go in now. At the clip he was moving, he's not going to stand for being forced to hang about downstairs. He'll have demanded to see someone in charge or Draco right away. Let's nip up to the tower quick and change the password on the portrait."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As it happened, the first figure of authority that Lucius ran into was the least likely to be impressed by his fit of pique--Severus Snape. The dark potions master was just coming up from the dungeons when the elder Malfoy swept into the front hall. Each man paused at the sight of the other, then approached slowly. Snape said, "Malfoy." Lucius gave an icy nod of recognition. "Dumbledore hasn't mentioned that you were expected."

"I do not feel obligated to telegraph my intentions, especially when it is a matter concerning my son," said Lucius coldly. "Please summon him at once."

Snape arched an eyebrow in an expression familiar to every student who had passed through his class. "While playing the role of messenger boy is undoubtedly one of my favorite past times, I cannot accommodate you. I believe that Draco is at present visiting Hogsmeade. He spends a good deal of time there."

Malfoy gritted his teeth. "At what time is he expected back?"

Snape shrugged. "The official curfew is eight o'clock, but he has, of late, demonstrated a willingness to accept a few demerits rather than cut short his visits. I'm beginning to wonder how he intends to make up the deficit when the term begins. He's already thirty points in the hole, and I'm being lenient. If he isn't careful, he's liable to foster a good bit of animosity from his housemates." Lucius' hand tightened on his cane till his knuckles were white. He turned without another word and started for the door. "Malfoy, did you want to see the headmaster?"

Lucius shot him a frosty glance. "Not now, but quite possibly in the near future." He strode out.

"We wait," murmured Snape, "with bated breath."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The barman at the Hogshead looked up as the new customer entered. The rag he was using to swab the inside of a dingy glass froze as his stomach plummeted. He remembered this one from around end of term. The pale git had left one of the house elves so nervous that it had dropped two trays of glassware before the owner had made it go have a lie down.

The tall man paused in the door and scanned the public room with a gimlet eye. More than one patron hunched up, turning their face down toward their drinks. They needn't have worried, because the man didn't find who he was looking for. He came to the bar and, ignoring the fact that he already had the barkeep's attention, rapped sharply on the bar with his cane. The man put down the glass and hurried over. "Yes, sir?" He didn't use the honorific title very often, but he had a feeling that he'd avoid a lot of grief by observing the niceties.

"I'm looking for a boy--about seventeen."

The bartender shrugged. "Not many of 'em around right now. You should check back of a weekend when school is in session."

Lucius lunged, and the bartend found his breath being cut off by an elegantly shaped, but very STRONG, hand on his throat. That near colorless, hard, face was only an inch from his own as the man hissed, "My SON, you ass! With the family resemblance, you couldn't mistake him. He has to be here--I've looked everywhere else that's open." He tapped the bar with his cane again, almost gently this time. "If I have to search this filthy hovel, I doubt that I'll leave much standing."

"Storage room," the bartender choked out. "Down that hall." He was released. As Lucius Malfoy moved toward the hall, the bartender called, "But he isn't..." Lucius disappeared into the hall, and the bartender's voice dropped, "He isn't alone, you bastard."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

This time the most appealing warm body in the Hogshead had been female. She had pale blonde hair--though the dark roots proved that it owed more to chemistry than genetics. Draco was indulging in a bit of Oedipal kink, pretending that the only slightly blowsy woman was Narcissa Malfoy. Even though he kept his face pressed to the woman's admirably firm bosom, the illusion was incomplete--Draco was sure his mother had never enjoyed sex as much as his partner was.

They were both naked from the waist down, and she was sitting on a wine crate, just at the level for Draco fuck her as he knelt before her. She had her legs locked behind his back, her slightly rough heels bumping his ass as he pumped into her. He'd just about decided that it was time to rethink his decision that he was bi. Perhaps he was gay after all. Although the woman was nicely wet and hot, she certainly didn't grip like Ron Weasley.

It took them both by surprise when the door slammed open, banging against the wall. The woman had a glimpse of what seemed to be a taller, older, and much scarier version of the boy who was fucking her so nicely. Then the intruder took a step forward, grabbed the boy by his silvery hair, and dragged him to his feet. The woman squeaked in frightened disappointment as the lovely, hard cock that had been drilling her was jerked away, leaving her gaping and empty. It bobbled and wavered as the young man kicked and struggled, scratching back at his captor, and yelling, "What the fuck do you think you're doing? I'll have your balls for this. Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, much to my sorrow," hissed the man.

The transformation was startling. The boy, so arrogant before, seemed to deflate. Actually, he DID deflate--he lost his erection in seconds. "Father..."

"Silence." Lucius released Draco with a shove that sent him stumbling against the wall. Then, using only his thumb and forefinger, he plucked the woman's panties off a nearby shelf and tossed them at her. He also dug a galleon out of his pocket and flipped that at her. She wasn't so shocked or outraged that she dropped it. "Out. And if you want to keep your tongue in your head, you won't let it wag." She shoved both coin and underwear into her skirt pockets and scurried out.

Lucius shut the door, then turned to glare at his son. Draco, not disoriented enough to ignore the fact that facing his father half naked was not a good idea, was struggling into his trousers. He gave Lucius a defiant glare, then said, "All right--she isn't up to family standards. There isn't a wide range of choices right now."

"Is this the first time you've screwed her?"

Draco sneered. "Of course. Does she look like someone I'd have an affair with? I don't even know her name."

Lucius regarded him with stony eyes. "Do you know the name of the girl who's carrying my grandchild?"

Draco gaped at his father, stunned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Lucius backhanded him. "You've shamed the family badly enough, boy. You WILL keep a respectful tone when you speak to me."

Sullen, Draco rubbed at his aching cheek. "Would you explain what you mean... sir?"

Lucius used his cane to point to the case that the woman had vacated. "Sit." Draco obeyed. Lucius rested his cane before him, then folded his hands on the head. "My peaceful interlude in Monaco was interrupted by a visit from Aunt Anisa."

Draco frowned. "Is she still alive?" Lucius' hand rose, and Draco flinched, saying quickly, "I just haven't seen her for years."

Lucius slowly lowered his hand. "She will quite likely outlive us all." He sneered. "If I did not know that all vampires are required to be registered, I would venture to say that we would have to drive a stake through her heart and bury her at a crossroad to be rid of her, but that is irrelevant. She graced me with her presence specifically to congratulate me on the lengthening of my family line."

"Really?" Draco smirked. "When's Mother due?"

Lucius gritted his teeth. "Deliberately feigning ignorance will not help matters, Draco. You heard me--I used the word 'grandchild'."

Silence descended. The two men stared at each other. Finally Draco said, "I'd say you're joking, but you have no sense of humor."

"I find very little to laugh at in my life. Before you suggest that one of the relations is in the family way, that has already been considered and discarded as impossible. That leaves only two possibilities--one much more likely than the other. Either you have impregnated someone, or you have yourself been impregnated." He cocked his head. "And from what I've noted of your temperament, I find it unlikely that you bottom willingly."

"Even if I did," said Draco, "a male pregnancy takes a bit of effort, and I'm not about to TRY."

"So I thought. Well?"

"And I don't think the other is likely, either." He indicated a small, gummy object on the floor near his feet. "I have enough sense to use protection when I fuck a woman."

"Always?"

"Always."

Lucius scowled. "Then I'm at a loss, and I don't like that, Draco. I don't like that at all. There has to be some other explanation."

"I tell you, Father, that there isn't a single instance when I fucked anyone without a rubber where a pregnancy could have resulted. I haven't gotten the details of what it takes for a wizard pregnancy, but I'm pretty sure I would have noticed if any of my male partners had... had..." He stuttered to a stop, naturally fair complexion going even paler.

"What?" demanded Lucius. Draco just shook his head. "Damn you, boy, WHAT?"

"No. No, it's just not possible." He laughed raggedly. "It's just impossible."

"There's very little that's impossible, Draco. You should know that by now."

"Well, let's say that it's less likely than Snape being voted favorite teacher by the Gryffindors."

"Draco, if you do not tell me what you suspect this moment I will take great pleasure in beating it out of you."

Draco folded his arms. "It's six of one, a half-dozen of the other."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I that I think I'm just as likely to catch a beating when you find out that there's a good chance I may have knocked up Ron Weasley."

For one glorious, terrifying moment, Draco thought that he might very well have given his father a coronary...

Part Sixteen

Lucius was vaguely aware that he must look ridiculous--standing in the back room of the Hogshead, his mouth hanging open. For once in his life he just didn't have the inclination to worry about appearances--he had more pressing matters on his mind. "Draco," his voice was deadly quiet, "that isn't the least bit funny."

"Don't I know it?"

"You're serious?" Draco nodded. "You are." He sat down heavily on a case. "By all that's infernal, boy, this time you HAVE done it."

"Apparently so," Draco hesitated, "if you're quite sure about Aunt Anisa?"

"She hasn't been wrong once within living memory."

Draco was studying his father warily. The elder Malfoy looked stunned, but Draco knew that it wouldn't be wise to count on that state continuing for any length of time. Lucius had been scheming and living by his wits for most of his life, and wouldn't be shocked into inaction for long. He was right. The glazed look passed from Lucius' eyes, replaced by a flame as his features tightened into a mask of rage. Draco snatched up his wand and said coldly, "If you so much as touch me I'll use the cruciatus on you, Father."

Lucius froze, studying his son. His voice was almost respectful as he said, "You would, wouldn't you? You'd use an unforgivable on your own father."

"Let's dispense with the sentiment, shall we? You may have sired me, but you've hardly been a father. Yes, I'd use it--without hesitation. I've taken my last beating at your hands, Father. The next time you strike me, you'd best just go ahead and kill me, because I will most ASSUREDLY kill you." Draco's voice was emotionless, but his pale gray eyes sparkled like chips of ice. "It may not be right away--but you have to sleep sometime."

Lucius smiled grimly. "You're my son, after all. Lower the wand, Draco. We need to decide how this will be handled, and I'd rather not do it at wand point."

Draco tucked his wand back into his belt. "If we're going to be discussing this mess, then I need a drink." He brushed past Lucius on the way to the door. "C'mon--I'll buy you one to celebrate your first grandchild."

Lucius followed, muttering, "I never noticed what a nasty sense of humor you have, Draco."

The bartender wasn't exactly happy to see the Malfoys settle into a booth in the back of the main room, but remembering the older man's mood when he went in the back, he decided to be happy that he wasn't having to rebuild half his establishment after a wizard's battle. He provided a bottle of their strongest tingleberry wine and a couple of their best goblets, and didn't ask for immediate payment. In fact, after studying their expressions, he concluded that if they decided to stroll out without settling the bill he'd just chalk it up to 'protection' money.

After his first sip of wine, Draco said, "You know, I hadn't really thought about it, but Weasley HAS been acting a bit queer of late. He passed out for no good reason not long ago." Draco snorted softly. "And you have to admit, the Weasley's are sturdy, peasant stock, so that isn't a very likely happening."

Lucius had finished his wine in a few gulps--an indication of his agitation. "Has he said anything to you about it?"

"No, but then I doubt he would." He smirked. "It wasn't exactly wine and roses for us, after all. More of a hump, spray, thanks for the lay."

Lucius grunted. "Well, given the rate at which Arthur and Molly Weasley reproduce, I can't say that I'm surprised that their child is as randy as his namesake, but I must say I'm surprised at his choice." Lucius' voice was detached. "You're not unattractive, Draco, but frankly I'd have thought Ron would have gone with Potter."

"He has. I'm fairly sure that they got together right after our impromptu tryst."

Lucius blinked. "Quick little vermin, isn't he?"

Draco shrugged. "The only ones who didn't see it coming down the track were the twits themselves."

Lucius pondered this, then sighed. "I suppose that will be our salvation. When he tries to name you as the father, we'll just insist that it's Potter."

"That's possible," Draco agreed. "But what makes you think he'll TRY to lay it at my door?"

"Don't be stupid, boy. You're a Malfoy--one of the oldest and most honored families in the wizarding world, and..."

"And the Weasley's don't give a toss about that. They've all made that quite clear, haven't they? If Arthur Weasley was interested in money, he could have made a pot in black market enchanted Muggle artifacts, but he's never taken a penny aside from that pitiful salary of his. Same with Charlie and Bill. There's a lot of money to be made in dragons and curse-breaking, if you aren't disgustingly honorable. I'd say it's fair to assume that Ron has inherited their mindset."

Lucius grunted. "I suppose you're right. I don't suppose there's much of a chance they'll try actual blackmail. They might try to claim child support, though, and the courts are notoriously sentimental about such things. Perhaps I'd better start totting up favors owed me, just in case we need leverage."

"I think you're being premature about this," said Draco. "From all I've seen of Weasley he's going to be bound and determined that any brat he's bearing would be from Potter. In fact, I believe that if we were to suggest differently he'd probably dig his heels in." He took another sip of wine. "Of course you're going to do what you're going to do, but I'd suggest just waiting, at least for a little while. Even admitting knowledge might be taken as a sign of responsibility."

"You may have a point there," Lucius admitted. "It might be better to pretend surprise and outrage if they bring it up." He sneered. "The outrage won't be too much of a stretch. Good God, Draco--Ron Weasley."

"Oh, belt up."

"Draco!"

"If you'd look past his family and his politics, you'd admit that he's hot." Draco smiled nastily. "You know what they say about redheads? Well, Ron rather lives up to it. I don't expect there are many virgins who take to shagging as readily as he did."

Lucius thought for a moment. "I must admit that I have no idea how to proceed."

"We're just going to have to wait for a bit to see which way Weasley jumps. Besides," Draco smirked, "it's entirely possible that Aunt Anisa has finally reached senility, and there's nothing to any of this."

"Perhaps," said Lucius wearily, "but the Muggles have a saying, something about a law passed by someone named Murphy..."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

There was a tap at the portrait, and both Ron and Harry looked up from the chessboard. Harry called, "Password?"

A squeaky voice answered, "Password is that poor Golwoggle is going to drop nice supper if he don't get let in right quick!"

They got up and went to the portrait. Harry said, "Sounds like a house elf."

The Fat Lady replied, "It is two of them, quite laden down."

"Let them in, then."

Her voice was arch. "It's quite against custom to open without the password."

Ron patted the back of the portrait. "C'mon, love. We're half starved, and they're going us a good turn by not making us toddle all the way down to the Great Hall."

There was a sigh. "Oh, very well, but mind you don't tell the rest of the house that I allowed this, or they'll all be wanting special privileges." She swung open, grumbling, "Hardly worth having a password if it isn't going to be used."

Two house elves, a male and a female, stepped through. Both carried heavily loaded trays. The little female was almost staggering under her burden, and Harry quickly relieved her of it. She sighed, "Oo, thank 'ee, sir." She put a hand to her back. "Don't usually mind toting a tray, but since I got caught, my back do ache sometimes."

Ron had taken the second tray from the male elf. "What did you get caught at? I thought you house elves never did anything but cook and clean, even for recreation."

The female giggled, and the male put an arm around her. "Twitchet don't mean caught doing naughty, sir. She means we be going to have kits." He grinned, the smile stretching half-way around his head. "I hope we has about six. Like small litters, I does. We can give each one more attention that way."

"Oh. Um, congratulations," said Harry. "This is the first time I've heard of one of you having kids."

"Don't happen much," the female agreed. "Be like you gentlemen." The little woman stood on tip-toe, reached up, and patted Ron's belly. "Rare as rare, but special-nice for that. When you be having your kit, sir?"

It was a good thing that Ron had put the tray down on the table, because he would have dropped it. As it was he sat down suddenly, going pale. "You're crackers."

The elves exchanged looks. "No crackers," said Golwoggle. "Nice rolls it is tonight, but Twitchet could hop down smart and get some for young sirs. Water crackers, or saltines?"

"Never mind that." Harry was as stunned as Ron was, but handling it a little more calmly. "What do you mean about Ron?"

Twitchet looked puzzled. "Sir?" Her face lit again in understanding. "Oh! Wizard kits take long time to grow, inside and out, yes?" She bubbled with laughter. "Poor witch ladies and wizard lads waddle, waddle a long time, but house elf just..." She blew a raspberry noise, "and kits come. Just a few weeks and elf kits run all over, but wizard kits so weak, so long, years and years. So, you don't know when your kit will come?" She eyed him critically. "Oo, not till next spring, most like."

"Twitchet," Ron said firmly. "I don't know what got that idea into your head, but I am NOT going to have a kit."

Golwoggle frowned, then patted Twitchet. "That's right, Twitchet. Babies, they call them--not kits."

Harry said, "What makes you think Ron is pregnant?"

Golwoggle looked at him in surprise. "Is, isn't he?"

"Well... Seriously, why do you think that?"

The elves shrugged, and Golwoggle said, "House elf just KNOW."

Twitchet added, "It be house elf's duty to care for the masters, yes? How could we care properly for mistress or master who is with kit if we don't know?"

Ron took a deep breath. "Look, you can't say anything about this to anyone."

"Sir?" Golwoggle said questioningly.

Harry squatted down so that he was on eye level with the little creatures, and said levelly. "Look, this isn't something we want everyone to know about."

"But... but..." Twitchet looked distressed. Her voice was soft. "Kit birthing is joyous thing. Yes?"

Ron sighed. He reached down and stroked the elf's thin hair. "Yeah, Twitchet. But we don't want everyone knowing our business."

Twitchet nodded. "Yes, I see." She smiled at Harry. "Holding the news close, yes? Not ready to share."

"That's right," said Harry. "We want it to be just our secret for awhile longer. So please, don't..."

"Sir!" said Golwoggle sternly. He drew himself up to his full height, head reaching just over knee height to Harry. "A house elf does NOT gossip about his masters." He shook his head firmly. "Never!"

Harry recalled Winky, and her years of devotion in keeping the Crouch family secret*. "I'm sorry, Golwoggle."

Golwoggle smiled back at him. "It's all right, sir. You're likely to be a bit nervous, what with first kit on the way. Anything else, sir? Crackers?"

Ron laughed weakly. "No, thanks."

The elves held hands, ready to disappear, but Golwoggle pointed at Ron and said severely, "Drink the milk!" Twitchet giggled. There was a popping sound, and the elves were gone.

Ron slumped. "Well, at this rate I s'pose I can expect a front page notice in the Daily Prophet any time now."

Harry sat on the arm of the chair Ron was occupying, and put an arm around his shoulders, giving him a squeeze. "I don't think you have to worry about that. But Ron? It's something you're going to have to think about. Things have been kept pretty quiet so far, but eventually, it's going to come out."

Ron was touching his belly. "In about eight months."

"Ron..."

"I know, I know." He sighed gustily. "I just want a little more time to get used to the idea, before people start wanting me to explain it. How am I going to explain it when I don't understand it myself?"

END PART 16