Nine Months in F Minor

Three months later.

    “You dirty little slut,” whispered Malfoy.

    Instinctively, Ginny drew her wand. “Care to repeat that, Malfoy?” she asked menacingly.

    He hesitated before drawing his own wand. “I said that you’re a dirty little slut, you stupid Weasel,” he said, louder than before.

    “Jealous,” Ginevra said, poorly masking the word with a cough.

    “Jealous?” asked Malfoy, his eyes narrowing. “Why should I be jealous of you, Weasel?”

    “Well,” said Ginny, one hand on her bulging belly, the other grasping her wand. The knuckles of this hand were white. “To start with, you couldn’t get laid if you tried, Malfoy.”

    Draco laughed, and it was nothing like Ginny expected. The laugh he threw Harry’s way during class was harsh and worn, underused, but this laugh was genuine, silvery, malicious but so deep and sickly sweet it hardly mattered. The hand on her stomach tensed. She had gained 23 pounds so far, and was, as Harry put it, ’positively huge’. At eight months, she was bigger than most women nearing the very end of their pregnancy. “They call me the Slytherin Sex God for a reason, you know,” He inhaled sharply, catching her scent on the air. She smelled different than other Hogwarts girls. She smelled like an adult. “I could get any girl I wanted,” he said abruptly.

    She snorted, flipping a piece of fire over her shoulder. “Oh yeah? Try me.”

    “I wouldn’t shag you, you filthy whore,” he said.

    She blushed in her anger. “You brought that one up, you- you- you ferret!”

    He shook his head. “So gullible, Weasley,” he said calmly. “Why, I could have you right here, right now, with a single word.” The bell rang, and the corridor emptied out, but the pair stayed perfectly still.

    “Sure, Malfoy. Just keep telling yourself that.”

    He paused, then said, “Imperio.”

    Distantly, as Ginny felt herself giving into him, she thought, hey, that’s cheating…

    He kissed her roughly, until she was gasping her breath, her lips swollen. He grinned, sliding his hands up her shirt and over her breasts and belly.

    He pushed her roughly to ground, ripping her shirt open and dragging her skirt to her ankles. He could have held her down physically, but instead he opted to just think about her writhing on the ground. He opened his own pants slowly, pushed them to his ankles and stood back up. She gazed in horror as he let his silk boxers drop.

    He knelt on the ground in front of her, wrenching her trembling legs apart. She screamed once, but softly, and then she couldn’t anymore.

    Malfoy coaxed her gently (well, almost) onto her back. He ran his tongue up her belly, hands on either side of the humongous lump. Distantly, he felt the baby kick.

    He pushed her bump out of the way and entered her.

    He did it slowly, giving her more time to panic and less chance of an escape. Malfoy drove into her, too hard by the look on her face. He pulled out a bit, hated himself for showing weakness, and shoved back in with all his strength. A small whimper escaped her.

    He came not twenty seconds later, his power leaving him. She gave a great shuddering gasp of pain as he drew out. He waited to lift the curse before dressing himself fully. He thought about leaving her, but buttoned her shirt back up and fixed her skirt anyway; helped her to her feet.

    He lifted the curse as he ran.

    Her red hair was tangled and matted with sweat. She clutched her cloak around her, shivering in pain and fear.

    It had hurt so much, Ginny thought. More than with Harry, or anyone else. In fact, it still hurt. She ran a comforting hand up her inner thigh. Coated with sweat, the pain was intensifying in small bursts. This must be what Hermione felt like, Ginny thought. But she was not losing her baby.

    All at once, it happened. A gush of liquid, thicker than water but thinner than honey, poured down her legs. Her underwear - the flowery pink ones - were sopping wet.

    I think my water just broke, she thought as she sank onto the floor.

    When the bell for lunch rang, she was still heaving on the floor, pain licking at her belly every five minutes or so.

    There were no classrooms along this corridor, and for several minutes, no one came through. Then Dumbledore, always in the right place at the right time, strode up the hall.

    He squatted down beside her. “A bit early, aren’t we?”

    She smiled weakly, then grabbed his arm as another contraction hit her.

    “They’re getting closer together, aren’t they?”

    She nodded, sweat seeping out of the pores of her skin.

    He squeezed her hand in his own withered one as the pain passed. “Can you move? I really don’t think you ought to have the baby here.”

    “Does it LOOK like I can move?” she asked, heaving herself into an almost-sitting position.

    Dumbledore smiled benignly down at her, patting her on the head. “Of course, Miss Weasley. Mr. Potter, of course, is on his way.”

    She looked steadily up at him. Maybe it was the salty sweat in her eyes, but suddenly he seemed so much older. “Harry’s coming? That- that’s good.” Her hand found Albus’ knee as yet another contraction hit.

    When it passed, Dumbledore looked calmly down at her. “Should Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger come?”

    She considered it thoughtfully. “Yes, alright. I can wait while you go and get them.”

    “That will not be necessary, Miss Weasley.” He reached into his robes and withdrew a pair of paper birds. He whispered gently to them and they flapped forward.

    Footsteps, then Harry was at her side. “Ginny - Ginny.” He was so out of breath, Ginny realized. He must have ran the whole way.

    Dumbledore stood and strode away, whistling to himself.

    “It’s so early,” said Harry, holding her hand.

    “I know,” she said. Her breathing was ragged. Another contraction came and passed. She clasped Harry’s wrist so tightly that when it was over, he had slight bruises on his forearms.

    “Sorry,” she mumbled, rubbing her stomach.

    “It’s alright,” he answered kindly. “Don’t worry about it.”

~

    Sixteen hours later, Harry held a tiny baby in his arms.

    “Sirius James Potter,” he whispered.

    “I like it,” an exhausted Ginny said from his side, nuzzling into his chest. “And Lily Elizabeth,” she added as the little girl in her own arms squirmed.

    Harry sighed softly as little Sirius yawned, clenching his miniscule fists. “This is wonderful,” he breathed in her ear.

    Ginny giggled slightly. “I know…I know.”

    ~

    There would be hugs, and kisses, and words of congratulation. Harry would live with the Weasleys for a year, visiting Hogwarts often.

    And maybe, some years later, people would talk in hushed whispers, of the Potter twins and their utter resemblance to Lily and James, two almost-forgotten figures in wizarding life. And then the pair of red heads would come in, with sparkling brown eyes, laughing, riding toy broomsticks, their cousin not far behind.

    There was no Icarus, but there was a certain Desdemona Dai Weasley-Granger, best friend of Lily Elizabeth and five-year-old cootie-infested spy, currently hired to scope out what Lily called ‘the Siri situation’.

    There was a young toddler with dark hair and pale blue eyes; a little girl of seven with strawberry blonde hair and moon-bright skin; two red haired boys that uncannily resembled their twin fathers and were even harder to tell apart; and a black-haired baby in a carriage pushed by his ‘Aunt Mione’.

    Harry Potter stretched out on the porch swing, observing the playing children. The sun was just setting, but the day wore on for Harry. Ginny set her Cosmopolitan down on the table and planted a kiss on her husband’s mouth. She tasted, Harry noticed, like cranberries and lime; the Cosmo on the table half full.

    “Ooh,” exclaimed one of the Potter twins. Pulling away, Harry grinned. “I saw Mum and Daddy kissing,” giggled the girl, running off to tell her twin.