So, without further ado....
Title: Lucky It’s You
Pairings: Ron/Harry, past Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione
Warnings: mpreg, possible hint of twincest
Notes: Ron’s POV. Written for the daily countdown community for shocolate.
Special thanks to my beta magicofisis
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, JKR does.
I have no idea how I got so lucky. It could have been Ginny lying here next to him; it could have been Hermione lying next to me, but it wasn’t. It was me, myself, and I that was lying next to him, hand resting gently on his protruding belly and ear pressed against his back, listening to the soft rhythm of his heart.
It was a shock, to say the least, to the whole family when we had first told them. He’d looked more scared I’ve ever seen him in my entire life, and that was saying something. He’s the bravest person that I know, but the thought of what my mother would do made him uneasy. He tried to hide it, of course, but I could tell just how nervous and afraid he was. I was just as scared. I had to be; it was my mother we were telling!
My dad, we knew, had taken the news quite well. Yes, we told him first. I knew for a fact that my mum would be overjoyed to be a grandmother again so soon, but just how she would take the news that it was Harry who was…
I shivered against him as I recalled how my mother looked when we broke the news to her. We thought for sure she was about to have a heart attack! She went pale at first, and then my father and Bill (who was visiting while on holiday) had to slowly help her to a chair. We thought she was about to faint, but then she had finally croaked out: “I’m going to be a grandmother!”
So, while Harry got fussed over and pampered, I was prodded repeatedly about popping Harry the big question, and if I was sure I was ready for this, and have I found the right job yet (as in, a better one that paid a lot more), and that I should look into finding a bigger place to live, et cetera.
At the moment, I was working at Fred and George’s joke shop. It wasn’t as bad as I had originally thought, getting a job there. They paid me well enough, possibly more than what others might have paid me had I worked in some other shop. I had major discounts on their merchandise (although I would rather have some of their things for free); we slowly started to get along a lot better than we had in the past (meaning they haven’t done any pranks on me since I’ve worked there). Also, they were the ones to help me get together with Harry.
That, of course, was another story all together. Basically, Harry had come into their shop one day looking sulky about something, so I asked him what was wrong. It turned out that he and Ginny had a big row and it ended badly. I wasn’t too pleased, seeing how she was my little sister and all. But after a while, when I heard Harry’s side of the story, I was a bit happier that Harry decided to break it off for good. Harry had come out to me a while ago before then, telling me that he liked both girls and boys. That was fine with me. I had been dating Hermione for a while, too, but that didn’t last long either. So, I knew how he felt.
But Harry’s ranting was getting carried away and Fred and George were worried that he would scare away their paying customers, so they threw us out of the shop to their flat upstairs. One touch had turned into another, the distance between us became less, and before we knew it we were snogging like mad on Fred and George’s bed.
Which quickly became disturbing, seeing how it was on the twins’ bed, so we stopped doing that to talk some more, about where we now stood, what would happen to our friendship if we starting dating, that old song and dance. Then finally we decided to give the dating thing a try, to see how it’d all go. If it failed, we promised to each other that we’d go back to being the best of friends, no matter what. It might prove difficult at first, but Harry reminded me about that day on the train, when we had become fast friends. A failed attempt at dating could never spoil the memories of all the things we’d been through together.
After casually dating for nearly a year, we then started seeing each other seriously for thirteen months. We had joked around about getting married a couple times, although neither of us had the courage to propose. But fate stepped in one day, and Harry came down with a tremendously bad wizard flu.
He was pale and whimpering, too sick to move, and I was scared. I usually don’t mind disturbing my mum, but she and my dad weren’t home. They had decided to take a trip to Bill and Fleur’s place to see their newborn baby, and apparently spent the night.
So, what was one to do for one’s sick boyfriend? Why, whip up a remedy for him. I ran into our kitchen (we lived in a small flat at the time), quickly took out the old potions book for Common Illnesses and Their Cures that I had been given by my mum one day, and cooked it up.
Now I know what you’re thinking. Ron, you berk! You’re not a Mediwizard or a Potions Master or any sort of expert on wizard illnesses. So, what the bloody hell were you doing? What was I doing? I was taking care of Harry, that’s what I was doing! What if it got worse because we waited too long and Harry got so sick and brittle that it was too late to save him and he died? It would have been entirely my fault.
I was sure I followed the instructions perfectly. And when Harry grudgingly drank down the potion I made for him, he was instantly better. See? I can do something right. When I care enough for someone, you better believe that I’ll strive to do my best. Harry could tell that I slaved away making that potion for him, and he felt so grateful about it that we ended up snogging and touching and… well, before I knew it we were naked and I had Harry writhing and squirming beneath me.
He had one leg over my shoulder and one wrapped around my ribcage as I moved, slick, in and out of him. He made so much noise that I was afraid that we woke our neighbors.
But at the time, I didn’t care. I was just too excited and relieved that Harry was no longer sick. I happily took in every noise he made, every sigh, every breathy moan and soft keen. He was so beautiful. Of course, I wouldn’t tell him that; he might hex me to the moon and back. No, but I would tell him how much I love him and how arousing he looked under me and how heady his scent was all around me, and how I planned on never letting him go.
And you’ve probably already guessed it, but that was how it happened. About a week later, Harry was in front of the toilet puking his guts out. I decided to try making that potion again since it seemed to work the last time, but as I began to get the ingredients together, I noticed a blatant error I had made in the last potion. Who would have thought that adding in that knotgrass would induce fertility? But, after a long talk with him and loads of hugs and kisses (and maybe feeling a little fear for our future), it was decided that Harry would have our child.
Our child. That sounds nice, doesn’t it? Ours. Not Ginny’s or Hermione’s. OURS. I’m hoping for a boy, obviously. Harry has said that he doesn’t care, but I could tell that he’s hoping for a girl.
So months later, here I am, lying next to him; keeping him warm, safe, and secure. My hand resting on Harry’s growing belly to let our unborn child know that I’m here, and I’ll keep him or her safe and secure as well. Harry was taking care of the ‘keeping warm’ bit.
I lay here unable to sleep, thinking about just how lucky I am to have Harry, and the knowledge of what is to come for our future. The conversation that we just had repeated itself in my head.
I had suddenly felt something hit my hand as I was spooned up next to him. Harry seemingly jolted out of sleep (which he probably wasn’t in very deep anyway) at the feel of it.
“Feel that?” Harry whispered excitedly.
“Yeah,” I said, my heart going a mile a minute. “Our baby kicked.”
“She’s saying hello,” said Harry softly. I could instantly tell that he was tearing up.
“Or he,” I said, trying to keep our conversation light. “You might traumatize the poor lad by calling him a she.”
“And how do you know it’s a boy?” said Harry, gently teasing me back.
“Because he’s mine,” I said as if it was obvious. “And he’s a Weasley. Do you know how hard it is for male Weasleys to make a girl?”
“You never know,” said Harry, turning his head back to look at me. His eyes were shining, but primarily with mirth. “You could very well break your family’s tradition and have nothing but girls.”
I laughed. “That would be hilarious! I’m sure my mum would have a heyday.”
“I’m sure she would,” Harry answered.
We laid there in silence for a while, and then I spoke, rubbing at the spot where our baby had jabbed. “Hey, let’s play a game.”
“I’m too tired to do anything, Ron,” Harry grumbled.
“No, nothing like that,” I assured him. “You’d still get to lay there and be warm and content and lazy.”
Harry chuckled. “All right, what kind of game?”
“Hmm,” I said, pretending to think. “How about a nice word game?”
“I suppose,” sighed Harry.
“Great. Make a sentence out of the following words: me, marry, you, will.”
It took Harry only half a minute to figure out what I was saying. He gasped, jerking in surprise, and then whipped his head around to look at me. The room was still dark and he had his glasses off, but he continued to stare at me as if I had grown an extra eyeball in the middle of my forehead.
“What?” Harry finally said.
“Well?” I said, smirking and trying to seem innocent. “Did you figure out what the sentence is or not?”
Apparently I was a you-you. Whatever that was.
“Well,” I said. “If you want to just lay there and call me names and not tell me your answer…”
“Yes,” Harry interrupted.
“Yes, what?” I said.
“Yes, you great pillock!” Harry said louder as he tried to roll over to face me better. “Yes, I will marry you!”
“Brilliant,” I said, smiling. “But you’re wrong.”
“What?” Harry blinked.
“I wasn’t asking if you will marry me,” I said quickly. “I was telling you that you will marry me. End of discussion.”
Harry’s mouth open and closed. “I—you—what?”
“The correct answer is: ‘You will marry me’. Not ‘WILL you marry me’. You see?”
Harry’s eyes flashed and I only had a split second before getting cuffed on the side of the head, and then Harry rolled back over so that his back was facing me.
“Bloody hell, Harry!” I moaned, clutching the side of my head. “I was only joking! Bloody hormones…” I muttered the last couple words, but I think Harry heard me.
“I think you can go sleep on the couch…”
“No, Harry, I’m sorry!” I wrapped my arms around him, hoping that he wouldn’t hit me again. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m trying not to… you know I’m just kidding around, right? And anyway, you said yes, that you would marry me.”
“Although I have no idea why,” he said, but he sounded less upset this time. I count myself very lucky.
“I could think of a few good reasons why,” I purred, nuzzling my face into his neck and lightly kissing it.
“Mmm, because you’re a prat?”
“No, guess again,” I kissed right below his ear.
“Because… you’re a big git?”
“Because of your freckles?”
“No, it—wait, is it?” I said, confused.
Harry laughed, and that was music to my ears. He wasn’t really mad at me after all.
“No, you berk,” he said softly. “I know why I said yes.”
“Good,” I sighed in relief, making a trail of kisses around to his face until I found his lips. He turned his head and kissed back. We stayed that way for a long while, and then we gently broke apart.
“Well, you got your answer, so can we go back to sleep?”
I grinned and nuzzled back against him. The baby kicked my hand again.
“I would say so,” I said. “And so does she.”
Harry smiled. “She?”
“Well—maybe I’ll get lucky.”
Have a wonderful Hump Day! Heehee. ;D