seraphina_snape (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=1){kind=small} seraphina_snape) wrote in ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif?v=1){kind=small} hp_mpreg,@ 2005-02-15 08:56:00 |
|
| Current mood: |  busy |
Spring Saturday
Title: Spring Saturday
Author: seraphina_snape
Rating: Hmm. PG-13, I suppose. Not too much nakedness or kissing, no violence at all. It’s rather sweet, I think.
Genre: Romance, definitely. A little fluff. *shudder* I wrote fluff. I’m so doomed.
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: (1) I wrote this for my dear friend Vina (firebird5), who was so kind as to get me a gmail invite now that I’m in dire need of a good and, above all, working email account. [BTW, does someone need gmail? 'Cause I've got a few invites...]
(2) This was supposed to be a 300 word drabble, but somehow, it turned out to have 2367 words. *shrugs*
(3) Feedback is encouraged. *g*
(4) X-posted at my writing journal.
(5) They might be OOC. As I said, it wasn’t a very planned fic, so the style is... well, not up to my usual standard, I think. And there are clichés. And more OOC-ness, especially Draco. But this is my only mpreg fic so far, so I have nothing else to offer. Read it anyway.
‘Ron?’ he asks carefully, not trusting his partner to start cursing him for disrupting their silent weekly reading session after breakfast on Saturday.
‘Hmpf,’ is the grunted reply, Ron not lifting his eyes off the page.
‘I was wondering… about your parents. Do you think they’re ready to know?’
Suddenly, the red head shoots up, and blue eyes narrow suspiciously. ‘Why do you want to tell them now of all times?’
‘I just think it’s important that they know of us. Family is very important, after all,’ he replies quietly, staring at his hands. He might not trust his voice to work fully, but even less does he trust his eyes not to give him away.
‘Family never was important to you,’ Ron says, closing the book on Quidditch strategies he’d been reading. ‘It was you who said that your father might as well “stick his wand where the sun doesn’t shine”, and if I remember correctly you added “Who needs family anyway?” to that.’
He sighs. ‘Yes, but I was drunk that day.’
‘You were not.’
‘I was!’ he nearly shouts, only barely keeping his voice down. Falling silent, he sits back down and resumes staring at his hands. ‘But that’s not the point.’
‘Yes, well, what is the point then?’ Ron stands up, pouring himself a finger of whisky, bringing his glass, a spare one, and the bottle of Firewhisky to the low table before the sofa. Ron pours another glass and hands it over silently, his eyes asking again what the point of the conversation is.
He takes the glass, now staring at the clear brownish liquid instead of his hands. His hands aren’t that nice anyway, although Ron seems to love them. He doesn’t know why – they are far too pale and bony.
‘You aren’t drinking.’
‘I know.’
‘What’s wrong?’ He doesn’t miss the urgency behind Ron’s question, but he can’t bring himself to look into that open and worried face just yet.
‘It’s nothing. I was just being sentimental.’
‘You? Being sentimental?’ Ron scoffs. ‘Someone, please call St. Mungo’s! I’m must be going mad.’
‘Stop joking, Ron! I’m serious.’
‘No… Sirius has black hair, and besides, he’s dead!’ Ron jokes, chuckling at his own gag.
Something inside him then snaps, and he can’t stand it any more. Standing abruptly, he slams the glass down on the table, making the whiskey swap over the sides and onto the polished wood.
Ron falls silent immediately and raises his eyebrows. ‘Hey, I’m so--‘
‘Oh, forget it!’ He storms out of the room, leaving a confused looking redhead behind, staring after his boyfriend.
***
‘Come on, open up!’
He doesn’t react, of course. He’s still furious. There he is, trying to address a serious – an important! – subject, and Ron makes tasteless jokes and insults him.
‘I know you’re inside there!’
‘Of course I am inside here, or do you think the door locks itself from the inside?!’ he shouts, aggravated. ‘Just leave me alone!’ Just go. Go away.
‘Come on…’
‘No! Go away.’
‘Tell me what’s bothering you!’
Bothering?! Who does he think he is? And who does he think I am? As if I have to be bothered by something to find it worth talking about earnestly.
‘I promise I won’t joke, and I won’t laugh and I won’t make fun of you afterwards.’
‘Just what exactly do you think I want to tell you? That someone put multi-colour hair dye potion into my shampoo, or that I can belch the national hymn? I’m being serious here, Ron, in case you didn’t notice.’
‘Yes, well, but unless you tell me what it is, I can’t possibly know how serious it is, can I? And I really don’t fancy having a conversation with a door between us. Can’t you open up?’
He knows he’s going to give in. Ron always does that to him. He can see the puppy dog eyes and the way Ron still seems to be looking up at him even if he is actually standing at a good five inches taller than him. Right now Ron would be leaning against the wall next to the door, probably looking at the picture on the opposite wall, a picture of the two of them a year ago at the beach. The Ron in the picture has a horrible sunburn.
Sighing, he opens the door, and finds Ron just as he had imagined. ‘Let’s go into the garden.’
Ron simply nods and they take the back stairs into the kitchen and from there into the garden. It’s late spring and the apple trees are in full bloom. He inhales deeply and sits down on the bench standing between two huge pear trees.
‘As I said, it is rather serious,’ he starts, not sure where to go from there.
‘And it has to do with my family?’
‘Not directly.’ He’s stalling. He knows he is, but he can’t help it.
‘Why did you mention them then? If they’re not part of the problem.’ Ron isn’t looking at him but stares off into the general distance of the Burrow. He knows Ron misses his family at times, and he’s never quite comfortable around them now because he isn’t telling them the whole truth. He isn’t telling them who it is he is sharing a house – a bed – with, who he kisses goodbye in the mornings and who curls up next to on the sofa late at night after a hard day at work.
‘They… I think… Well. Er.’
‘Draco! Just say it!’
He closes his eyes for a second, counting to ten, just as his mother had told him to do. Opening his eyes again, he sees Ron staring into the distance again. ‘Ron, this is not easy for me, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t disrupt me every few seconds.’
Ron slowly turns his head around and smiles apologetically. ‘Sorry. It’s just that yesterday was pretty exhausting, and I haven’t had that much sleep last night. I’m just tired. Sorry I snapped at you.’
He nods. ‘Apology accepted.’ He smiles briefly, and Ron, encouraged by the gesture, takes his hand, stroking the palm with his long fingers.
‘I was at St. Mungo’s two days ago.’
‘Because of that flu?’ Ron asks warily. He can see that Ron doesn’t really know what all this has to do with his family or the “problem” he’s having, but he obviously chose it would be wiser to stay silent than disrupt his lover again.
He nods and then falls silent.
‘So… Did they give you a potion?’ Ron finally asks, carefully.
He shakes his head. ‘I’m not allowed to take any more potions more powerful than a light sleeping draught for the next seven months.’
Alarmed, Ron grips the hand tighter and pulls the shorter man towards him. ‘Is it that? You are sick and only going to live another seven months?’
He is slightly put off by the sheer desperation in Ron’s voice, but then the annoyance takes over. Doesn’t he listen?!
‘No! Don’t you listen? Did the words “I’m going to die soon” leave my mouth at any point? Did I say “You go choose a coffin while I pick the flowers for the funeral”?’
‘This is not a matter to make jokes about!’ Ron exclaims, hugging Draco to his chest.
‘Like you’re one to talk…’ he mutters under his breath, but soon he is distracted by Ron’s neck, which is well within his reach.
Ron moans as soon as the warm lips touch the skin of his neck, and he eagerly responds to the kiss when they finally make their way up to his face and his mouth.
After several minutes of kissing, Draco eventually stops and leans his head on Ron’s shoulder, making himself comfortable. All his insecurities are gone, and he’s actually looking forward to the rest of their conversation.
Ron, still breathing fast, wraps his arms around the blond straddling his lap and pulls him closer. ‘So you are not going to die?’
‘No,’ comes the muffled reply. He has his head buried in Ron’s shoulder, wondering why anything that he hated so much as a child could make him feel so happy now.
‘There’s no awful, horrible death I will have to prepare for?’
He chuckles. ‘No, quite the contrary, actually.’
There is a pause, then, faintly: ‘…Quite the… Draco, what are you trying to say?’
Reluctantly, he lifts his head from Ron’s shoulder and looks into the eyes he’s come to love over the years. A clear blue, like the summer sky on a cloudless day. Definitely an image he likes to connect to Ron.
‘Do you--I mean, are you--Are we…?’
Draco nods. ‘The nurse said I was the fifth wizard this month to turn up there, pregnant. They had no idea that the potion would be so successful.’
‘I didn’t know you were still taking it.’
‘Yes, well. Only because it didn’t work when we tried at first didn’t mean we couldn’t try again! I’ve read about it. Stress, being over-expectant, all that were factors why it didn’t work. So I asked the mediwitch for a new batch of potion.’
Ron didn’t say anything; he was staring south again.
‘I didn’t tell you because I thought you had enough stress at work already.’
Still no response.
‘Ron?’
Nothing. Draco bites his lip, thinking fast. He has no idea what to do, so he simply stops thinking altogether and obediently follows as his unthinking feet lead him back to the house.
***
‘What are you doing here?’ Ron’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife, and Draco starts, letting go of the robe he’d been holding.
‘It’s okay,’ Draco says. ‘I’m just packing. Is it okay if I stay in the guestroom for a couple of days until I find my own place? I’d rather not go to my parents.’
‘You want… what?’
‘I… If you are uncomfortable with that, I think I could ask Pansy, but she’ll want all the gossip, you know how she is.’
‘Draco, what are you talking about?’
‘I... don’t know. What are you talking about?’
‘Why do you want to move out?’
He snorts. ‘“Want” is probably a little euphemistic. You are the one who’s not wanting me here.’
‘What? When did I say that?’
Draco raises his eyebrows. ‘Just now, in the garden. Remember?’ he says, but the words lack the usual friendly malice and snide. It sounds flat and somewhat uninspired.
‘But… I didn’t say anything!’ Ron protests.
‘Exactly.’ Draco closes the lid of his suitcase with one flick of his wand and puts a Featherweight Charm on it to make it easier to carry.
Ron is blocking the door. ‘You think I don’t want you, or the baby, because I didn’t say anything?’ he asks, incredulously. Suddenly, he starts laughing.
‘What’s so funny?’ Draco hisses, and Ron sobers up.
‘You completely misunderstood that!’
‘You… don’t want me to leave?’
‘No, silly! Of course not. I love you.’
‘But why didn’t you say anything? I thought--‘
Ron cuts him off with a kiss that leaves them both breathless. ‘I wasn’t expecting a thing like that,’ Ron says, gasping for air. ‘I was completely dazed. I couldn’t think straight for a moment. All I was seeing were little babies with red hair and grey eyes, my long nose and your elegant hands. I was surrounded.’
‘Does that mean you don’t want the child?’ Draco’s eyes widen, and he needs to sit down.
Ron rolls his eyes. ‘Of course not. I already love the child, although it’s probably about this tiny still,’ he says, crouching down in front of Draco, holding his thumb and index finger not even an inch apart.
‘You want this child?’
‘Draco, stop being an idiot! Of course I do. I love you, I love the child. I want us to be happy.’
‘I love you, too.’ Leaning forward, Draco kisses the redhead, slowly and tenderly. ‘Love you, too,’ he mumbles.
After a few minutes, Ron stands up, stretching. ‘Look at us, all sappy and lovey-dovey. Urgh, my back is killing me. I shouldn’t accept anyone’s offer to play a round of Quidditch after work when I haven’t been on a broom in weeks.’
‘Let’s go down to the sitting room. I’ll give you a back rub when you promise to get me the strangest things once I reach the stage of odd food cravings!’
‘Always the Slytherin.’ Ron smiles, putting an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders. Draco leans slightly into the half-embrace, pulling Ron to the door. ‘Ha. I bet our baby will be a Slytherin, too.’
‘No way! My family’s all been to Gryffindor. Mum will be so proud.’
‘We are going to tell them, I take it?’
‘Of course. Bill and Fleur are in France with their children, Charlie’s in Romania still and the twins are far too immature to ever have children. And Ginny… well. She’s never been in a relationship that lasted more than six months, so I think Mum will be thrilled with the prospect of a grandchild to spoil.’
‘A Slytherin grandchild no less…’
‘You wish.’
‘I know.’
‘There’s no way a Weasley’s gonna be Sorted into Slytherin.’
‘Maybe. But it’s also a Malfoy, so who are you to argue that it can only be a Slytherin. There simply is no other way!’
Ron scoffs. ‘Dream on, Malfoy.’
‘Oh, watch it, Weasley, or you might not get that backrub after all.’ Draco is smiling.
‘Well, then I think our deal is off and I won’t need to get up in the middle of the night to fetch you some chocolate cream pizza or other disgusting stuff.’
Smiling, they kissed again.
After a long moment, Draco finally leans back on the sofa and makes a thoughtful expression. ‘I think it’s going to be a boy.’
‘Nope. It will be a girl. The first one after Ginny in the family. She’ll be perfect. Beautiful, intelligent, just perfect.’
They were silent for some time, both content to just sit there, hands entwined, and watch the apple blooms through the window, dancing in the wind.
‘Yes,’ Draco finally agrees, grinning. ‘He’ll be perfect.’
The End.
Additional Notes: The Serious-Sirius joke is entirely Vina’s fault. It was her story that made me cringe every time I hear someone say “seriously”, so I thought I’d get a little revenge… No doubt she was laughing very hard when she read that…
