|SIYE Time:23:51 on 21st February 2018|
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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-HBP
Story is Complete
Summary: AU. Ginny isnít interrupted in her bedroom and the consequences could kill them all.
Hitcount: Story Total: 2301
Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work.
This is the first proper piece of fanfiction Iíve written since I was about fourteen, and the first proper piece of Harry Potter fanfic Iíve written ever. Iíve written plenty before, but not for ages, so I hope you donít mind if Iím rusty. Iíll get better. *grins promisingly*Also, I know this has been done before, so shout out to one story Iíve forgotten the name of and canít find and to The Most Powerful Magic in Existence on SIYE for the inspiration. This is my take on the trope. I hope you like it.
“There’s the silver lining I was looking for,” she whispered. And she was kissing him like she had never kissed him before. Better than any other kiss. They fell back on her bed, their limbs intertwining together. Her hand was up his shirt and then so was his up hers and then she put her hand down his pants and he put his down hers. They took their clothes off with hurried procession, throwing them on the floor, and then he was inside her and oh, merlin, sweet sweet merlin it was bliss.
When it was all said and done, they help each other dress slowly.
“This won’t happen again, I promise,” she whispers.
He looks at her, blinks, then smiles sadly. “Thanks.”
They pretend it never happened, as much to save face in front of everyone else, and as much to protect what could ever be the future of their relationship and their lives. Her life.
The death eaters attack at the wedding, and while she doesn’t see the three of them disapprate away, she hears their pop amongst the chaos. It makes her heart ache to know that this may well be the last time she ever gets to see him again, and he wasn’t even him.
Her breasts start to hurt, so she thinks that her period is coming. It doesn’t. Three weeks later, she begins to vomit. She hides the evidence and leaves it be until her mother discovers her slumped over the toilet one morning, her stomach stated after a morning of nauseousness. Her mother is concerned but nonplussed. But when her second period is missed she runs shaking into her parents’ bedroom one morning and sobs.
They go into hiding the next day at Aunt Muriel’s.
Two weeks later they move her to her brother Bill’s and hold a family conference.
A week after that, when her nausea is beginning to lapse, they tell the Order.
Tonks arrives the following night, smiling sadly. Her stomach is visibly rounder, her breasts heavier. They talk to the wee hours of the morning about what on earth they are going to do, two pregnant ladies in the middle of a war — both, in their different ways, linked irrevocably to hated people.
Before Nymphadora leaves, they touch each other’s stomachs at the same time. She feels a soft flutter of the skin underneath her fingers and wonders at the miracle that will be the moment she feels the little being inside of her move for the first time.
She cries, sobbing madly, in the bedroom she is borrowing, when that time comes. She thinks of Harry, of the loneliness she feels in the situation she is in, surrounded by people, even people who understand, but yet cannot possibly know what it is like to not have the one person in the world you want to be there by your side.
She remembers the next day that Harry doesn’t know — cannot know — that he has a child growing inside of her. She sobs again, her hand resting on the swell of her belly.
There is a crack in the garden. There is commotion as Ron is brought inside. It is only her and Fleur and Bill here, but they summon her parents immediately and they arrive with soft pops outside the wards.
She stares horrified at him for a moment before she is lunging at him, hitting him, striking his thin chest and hollow face. She is white hot with anger and unthinking as she screams.
“What have you done? What have you done?”
She starts to sob then, partially at the relief of seeing her brother alive, partially horrified at the condition he is in, but mostly at the pure agony of knowing that Harry is abandoned — all spurned on by hormones and this blasted pregnancy.
Ron is then wide eyed as she backs away and he gets a good look at her stomach. She isn’t showing that much, but it is clear from the shirt she is wearing that something is not right with her, that she is obviously pregnant.
“When?” he whispers.
“None of your business,” she answers back, and runs crying out of the room.
“Harry’s not going to like this. He doesn’t need this too,” he tells her later, sitting together on her bed.
“I know. It wasn’t planned.”
“Which part?” he laughs humourlessly.
“The baby part. We’re both far too young and there’s a war on, you know. And, oh, if the wrong people were to find out, they’d kill us all.”
Thankfully, Ron never mentions about her planning the part where they made love in her bed on his birthday.
Dear Harry, she writes.
There’s something I need to tell you, but you have to burn this the moment it is finished being read. Tell no one but Hermione.
There’s been some unexpected consequences to our little rendezvous. I think the attached picture explains enough. Again, burn the moment you finish looking at it.
I love you, and I love this little boy. I hope with every fibre of my being that you are safe and whole and that you will come out of this alive. No one outside the Order knows.
Ron will explain the rest. Just know that I love you, and that this is the hardest thing I have ever done, and that should you wish to see me Ron knows where to find me.
By Merlin I hope I see you again.
(and our little boy says hi!)
Ron disappears silently one night a few weeks later. They can only assume he has discovered them and gone back.
With a scream, Luna and Dean come tumbling into the back garden. She sees it from the window of her bedroom. She longs to go running to them, but fear of death eaters holds her back.
Harry stares at her in the door way, his face bloody and tear stained.
She comes towards him slowly, unbelieving it’s him until she is an inch apart, separated only by her growing belly.
“He’s dead,” he whispers back. And you know immediately that this is a friend, not a foe.
She comes and watches him dig the grave the muggle way.
Later, they lay side by side on her bed holding hands. They do not speak for years.
“I can’t believe it’s real,” he says finally.
“I didn’t want to for the longest time,” she whispers back. “For the longest, longest time.”
“What’s it like?” He waves at her belly with his free hand.
She tells him, placing that waving hand on her stomach, and with an almighty kick from the little sweet miraculous bugger, Harry is hovering over her, wide eyed.
“That hurt, I’ll have you know,” she jokes. But they smile together for the first time in months and months.
They make love that night for the second time, slow and tender.
Harry marvels at her swollen stomach and her enlarged breasts. They kiss for the longest time, naked on her borrowed bed. When he enters her, she feels complete for the first time in what feels like forever.
They sleep, and she means sleep, on her cramped borrowed bed, legs intertwined and her half on top of him.
Remus comes over with pictures of Teddy. Harry just as wide eyed with wonder as when he felt the baby move, and she knows it’s because he is thinking of them and their little boy. He accepts godson duties with a stammer, the two hugging tightly to each other.
“Thank you,” she hears Remus whisper and she wonders what on earth her beloved has done now.
He’s up to something that he can’t tell her, though he’s told her and confirmed many things that she has wanted to know for more than a year. He’s obsessive over both his quest and her in equal parts. But soon they are off, on the first of May, with the bloody goblin and Ron and Hermione.
She hears about the break in to Gringotts and cries.
Fleur and Bill and her dad and Luna and Dean all disappear in such a hurry in the middle of the night that she knows that it’s the end without her mother telling her. She is almost due, her stomach swollen and her feet hurt. Her breasts are huge now.
She wishes, for the sake of their unborn child, that she could fight, but for the sake of their unborn child she stays hidden in her warded bedroom and tells her mother the name the two of them have picked out: James Sirius Potter.
Her mother helps her over the rubble in the front entrance as they walk in a trance into the Great Hall. Her brother is dead, but so is Voldemort. And Harry, sweet merlin, is thankfully alive. Just, Ron explains.
Everyone stares at her. They’ve kept things so quiet that no one knows, not even Nymphadora’s mother. She stares wide eyed at her, clutching baby Teddy. Using him as practice, she holds the baby in her arms against her chest the way her mother talks her through it.
James kicks in excitement, she supposes.
She finds him in the dorms asleep and curls herself awkwardly around him. He awakes but does not startle, their child pressed against their side a sure sign that she is who she says she is.
It is a week past her due date that she finally delivers. There is blood and pain — so much pain — but Harry is there encouraging her and miraculously she has a proper healer and is in the maternity ward of St Mungo’s.
She is told it’s a standard delivery, and James comes screaming into the world covered in blood and fluid that she doesn’t understand, having not studied too hard with the limited resources at her disposal — mainly her mother.
She and Harry are elated. James is a healthy, standard looking baby with blue eyes and a shock of his father’s hair. Harry signs the registration certificate for her with pride and shaking hands.
The press goes crazy a week later when the delayed paperwork is put through. They’d managed to keep the paternity of her child a secret until then, and by then, they were back at the burrow, safe under the wards.
It is hard work being a mother, and Harry struggles with the responsibility of looking after the two of them. They are far too young for all of this, and Andromeda claims herself to be far too old for all this too, and has decided to come live with them at the burrow for a time, the two babies looking curiously at each other over the several people missing dining table at meal times.
But despite the struggles, they are good parents too. Loving and attentive and with good humour to boot.
Three months later, they marry in the back garden of the burrow in front of the family on a whim. It is her idea. In the chaos of raising James and grieving, they do not think to solidify their relationship until one crazed sleepless night she decides that now is as good a time as any.
The press goes crazy, but she is too consumed by her new little family to notice the front headline of the Daily Prophet.
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