FIC: Mastering the Art of Misconception

[sparkysparky]

Title: Mastering the Art of Misconception
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A druken shag leads to months of misunderstanding and a quite unexpected outcome
Disclaimer: Characters/universe are not mine. Everyone one involved is over 18.
Warnings: MPreg, some angst, rimming
Author's Note: This was written during besmates_xmas for the lovely yura_slash. My deepest thanks to fate_envies_us for initial hand-holding and beta, and to kendas for cleaning up the rest. I love you both.
Author's Note the Second: This is mostly a rough draft, but as I don't know when (or if) I'll ever get around to expanding some parts of this, I'm putting it here for safe keeping.



Harry took one last look at his reflection and thought he looked slightly ridiculous. He rolled his eyes, sighing. He still wasn't completely sure of his outfit or the evening's plans.

It was just that Hermione had been so excited when she'd mentioned the three of them going out to a Muggle club that he hadn't been able to disappoint her by saying he'd rather to stay home. Ron and Hermione had only just started to be friends again, and he didn't want to do anything to damage the rocky truce they'd arrived at over the past few months since the spectacular explosion of their break up.

He was uncertain that the outfit Ginny had picked out for him was at all appropriate, but it was hard to argue with someone who had perfected the art of selective listening. So, he'd let her wrestle him into denims - that had to be a size or three too small - and a black shirt that was so thin and stretchy his nipples were visible .

He'd let her have free reign with his hair as well. But, even with a jar of what she called 'product,' it still didn't look much different than normal, except that it was now more of an ordered sort of chaos.

"Harry, are you ever coming out? Hermione's going to be here any minute, and you know how she likes to stick to a schedule."

Ron's voice sounded stressed, and Harry wondered if Ginny had played dress up with him as well. For a girl who spent most of her time in Quidditch robes she sure seemed to enjoy making people over. She seemed to get some sort of thrill out of manhandling her men into clothes that 'better suited' them, Harry thought. And although it was his personal opinion that she just liked to see them squirm, he sometimes, he wondered how Neville handled it. But knowing Neville, he probably just smiled and quietly went about his own business while somehow making Ginny think it was all her idea.

Harry took one last look, decided nothing he did was going to make him look more like himself, and headed out into the hall to meet Ron. He had to pause when he caught sight of his friend, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. Because Ron looked-Ron looked edible. That was the only word he could think of that described how Ron filled out the green shirt and black trousers-Wait! Were those leather?

"Hey, mate, you okay?" Ron asked, walking up the hall towards Harry. "You look a bit stunned. Ginny got to you too, didn't she?"

Harry blinked again and realized he was supposed to respond. But seriously, how could Ron expect a response from him when he was standing there in leather trousers? Shiny black leather that Harry just wanted to tear away so he could see what was hidden underneath. And maybe then he'd slide slowly to his knees, look up at Ron - who would be blushing and speechless, and Harry would just smile and take Ron's cock in his mouth, sucking just the tip of it to learn Ron's flavor. Ron would moan and wrap Harry's hair around his hands, hold on while Harry learned exactly how Ron liked to have his cock sucked.

Not that he would ever seriously entertain that thought, because it was Ron and Ron was completely straight. Or at least he was mostly straight, and even if he wasn't Harry wouldn't want to risk their friendship for anything. He'd seen first hand what the disastrous relationship between Hermione and Ron had almost done, and he wouldn't want a repeat of that situation.

"Harry, are you alright?" Ron asked again, looking down at Harry in concern. "Ginny didn't addle your brain with all that hair gel, did she?"

"What?" Harry asked, forcing himself to stop thinking about sucking Ron's cock, and willing his half-hard cock to subside. "No, I'm fine. Are you ready?"

Ron studied him for a moment, but just shrugged. "Yeah, I'm ready. I don't think I can sit in these damned trousers though," he said, tugging at the waistband. "I don't know what Ginny was thinking with the leather. I just know I'm going to chafe."

Harry snickered and pretended he hadn't just been thinking about sucking his best mate off. He rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you'll be fine. Or that Hermione will know a charm that will stop the chafing. You know Hermione. She's got a spell for everything," he said fondly. He and Ron would have been dead at least five times over without Hermione's seemingly endless knowledge of spells.

"Got an encyclopedia for a brain, our Hermione," Ron said his voice equal parts fond, proud, and annoyed. He looked like he was going to add something else, but there was a quick knock at the door, and then Hermione was striding into their living room.

"Ginny got to you too, I see," Harry acknowledged, taking in her somewhat tamed hair and uncharacteristically short skirt, low cut top and high-heeled boots.

"Lavender and Parvati dropped in and threw a fit when I said I was wearing jeans tonight. Said I couldn't go out with my ex-boyfriend wearing ratty old jeans and a jumper set." She rolled her eyes, but Harry noticed she was smiling a little. "So, I let them dress me up in order to avoid a row."

"Well, you look lovely," Harry said, glancing at Ron who, quite honestly, was looking a bit shell-shocked. Harry pushed away the queasy feeling in his stomach, and plastered on a large smile instead. "So, do we have a destination in mind?"

"Lavender told me about a new club near Diagon Alley. The place is wizard-operated, but is strictly Muggle food, attire, and drinks. I'd like to go there. At least to check it out," Hermione said, avoiding Ron's gaze. "I told Ginny, and she said that she and Neville might come by to check it out as well."

Harry glanced at Ron, who hadn't yet regained his ability to speak, and then back at Hermione. "That sounds fine," he said, though he hoped he wouldn't know anyone there. It was hard enough being Harry Potter on a daily basis; he didn't want to have to fend off nosy reporters while he was still brain-addled by Ron and Ron's leather pants. "Ron, is that okay with you?"

"What?" Ron blinked and seemed to come back to himself as he looked over at Harry. "Yeah, whatever you two want."

Hermione looked at Ron oddly and opened her mouth as if to say something, but then she closed it, perhaps thinking better of whatever she'd been thinking of saying. "Well, all right then. Can you two manage to get yourself there, or should I bring us all? We can Disapparate to the Leaky Cauldron, and walk from there."

"I think we can manage ourselves, Hermione. We're not seventeen anymore," Ron said, his voice a bit cold.

Hermione flushed and her eyes got suspiciously bright, but before Harry could say anything, she'd Disapparated.

"Nice, Ron," he said. "That was real nice." Harry glared at Ron for a moment and then Disapparated as well, arriving outside the Leaky beside Hermione who was looking forlorn. "He didn't mean it the way it sounded you know," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I know," she said. "I didn't mean to imply that the two of you weren't capable of Apparation on your own. I'm sorry you're always in the middle." She hugged him quickly, but before Harry could respond, Ron had arrived and the three of them started to head in the direction of the new club, Hermione in the lead.

The club was called The Underground, and from the outside it looked like any other brick building on the block, but once inside it was a whole different story. "I thought you said this was a Muggle-themed club?" Harry asked, noticing that the space inside was much larger than the structure would normally support.

"Well, they have expanded it magically, of course. And placed the necessary Muggle-repelling charms on the building," Hermione explained. "But other than that it's completely Muggle, or so Lavender said. They do require you check your wand at the door-"

"I'm not leaving my wand at the door!" Harry exclaimed at the same time Ron shouted, "Hell no!"

Hermione simply rolled her eyes and opened her purse, drawing out three wands and handing one to each of them. "Of course we're not giving them our wands," she said. "Honestly, you two. Come on, let's go in."

***

Two hours after they'd arrived, Harry was ready to go home. More than ready, he decided as he studied his drink. Was it his fourth or fifth? He'd lost track after the second, having paid much more attention to Ron and Hermione's unspoken competition. He didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed at the way they'd each abandoned him to try to make the other jealous.

Ginny and Neville had been a good distraction for awhile, but they'd left an hour ago, claiming an early morning. Harry pretty much figured that was code for 'We're going to go shag now', but hadn't said anything. He decided that after putting up with Ron and Hermione - who had both grown more and more antagonistic towards each other in proportion to the amount of alcohol they'd had - someone, at least, deserved to have sex. And if it couldn't be him, at least it would be Neville and Ginny.

Harry sighed and finished off the last of the drink. It was pink and fruity and had been Hermione's until she'd gone off to dance with the latest in a long line of wizards who'd wanted her attention. He reached over and pulled Ron's forgotten drink to him and drank that too, trying not to look too closely at Ron who was dancing with a blonde witch and glaring at Hermione. Harry rolled his eyes and downed the drink in one go, listing slightly to the side after he swallowed.

He looked down and studied the tablecloth intently, ignoring the curious gazes coming his way. The lights were really pretty as they sparkled through the glasses, he noticed, and he twisted a glass back and forth under them, stopping only when the shouting started. Harry turned slowly, careful not to fall off his seat, and saw Ron and Hermione glaring at each other while their respective dance partners and a dozen or more other dancers watched curiously.

"Stop trying to run my life, Ronald!" Hermione was shouting, hands fisted at her hips, eyes narrowed. "We're not together anymore!" She spun on her heel and headed back to the table, Ron close on her heels.

"He had his hands all over you!" Ron shouted back, just as enraged as Hermione was, his face red and knuckles white. "They were on your arse, Hermione!" They'd arrived at the table, but didn't seem to notice Harry sitting there, too engrossed in their argument to pay attention to their surroundings.

"We were dancing, Ronald. And maybe I liked his hands there," Hermione retorted, her voice just above a whisper, as if she'd suddenly realized they were in public. She started to say something else, withdrew her wand slyly to cast a privacy charm around the three of them, and continued. "Besides, you were busy with your own little tart. So, I don't know why we're even having this argument! We're broken up, and it was your decision. You're the one who wanted to end things. Who said you weren't even sure if you were straight. So why don't you go back to trying to figure that out and leave me alone."

She glared at Ron once more and took down the privacy charm. Grabbing the man she'd been dancing with, they stalked out of the club without a glance back towards Harry and Ron. Ron was gaping after her, and looked as if he wanted to be sick. Whether it was from jealous or regret, Harry didn't know.

Harry tried to stand to go after her, wanting to make sure she was going to be okay, but his legs were rubbery and he toppled to the floor, giggling madly and quite unable to stop himself. He was still giggling when Ron stalked over, his face still a study of fury. Ron stared down at him for a moment, and then hauled him up, dragging Harry after him as he headed for the door.

"Oh, are we leaving?" Harry asked conversationally, leaning against Ron happily. He knew he should be more concerned - more sympathetic - but all he felt right now was warm from both the alcohol and being held by Ron.

"That's good, 'cause Hermi-Hermihi - she's mad at you, and I think you made her cry, and why didn't you tell me you might be gay? I wouldn't have minded, you know? 'Cause I'm gay. I've always been gay, but I didn't know it until Ginny told me I was when we tried to have sex and I said your name instead of hers." Harry hiccupped and leaned more against Ron, glad his friend was steadier on his feet than Harry himself was. "She was mad at first, but she got over it and now she has Neville and they'll get married and have babies and I can be godfather, like I am to little Teddy."

He paused and smiled stupidly at the thought of his little godson. He'd have to go see him and Andromeda soon, it had been a week since he'd seen them. Realizing Ron was still staring at him, Harry blinked and came back to the present, continuing to speak before Ron had a chance to tell him to bugger off.

"And I want to be gay with you, but not if it will make Herminniny sad, or make you hate me, or make us fight. I don't want to fight with you like you do with her. Not fun." Harry knew he was babbling, but alcohol always loosened his tongue, and he'd had a lot of alcohol.

Ron didn't say anything, which made Harry feel alarmingly sick to his stomach, but it might have been all the alcohol in his system and not the fact that he'd just outed himself to his best friend and admitted his feelings all in a matter of minutes. It was hard to tell. He didn't have a chance to worry about it though, as he found himself suddenly shoved up against a wall and warm lips were covering his own.

Harry yelped in surprise, but it melted into a whimper as Ron's tongue carefully traced over his lips. He opened his mouth automatically to let Ron's tongue inside, and groaned as Ron's tongue rubbed against his. His arms were heavy as he lifted them to wind around Ron's shoulders, and he'd just started to kiss back when Ron pulled away, breathing heavily.

"Ron-"

"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't…I didn't mean to," Ron said softly, pulling away completely.

Harry nearly fell over again; the only thing keeping him upright was the wall at his back. He stared at Ron in confusion, wondering what had just happened. "You kissed me," he said, raising a trembling hand to his lips. "Why?"

Harry studied Ron as his friend ran a hand through his hair and stared miserably at the ground. "I just…I don't know. It seemed like the thing to do at the time," Ron said finally, scrubbing at his face with his hands. "I'm sorry."

Harry's brain was fuzzy from the alcohol and all he knew was that Ron had kissed him. Ron had kissed him. "Did you like it?" He had to know. He had to know if it had just been a fluke or if maybe Ron felt the same way about him.

"I… I don't know." Ron wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Ron, it's okay. It was just a mistake, I understand. You were upset, and I was here, and well… I understand if it was just-"

Ron sighed heavily and finally looked up at Harry, cutting him off. "I liked it," he said.

Harry blinked rapidly, not sure he'd heard right. "Oh," he said stupidly. "Do you want to do it again?"

"Harry, you're drunk," Ron said in lieu of answering.

"So're you," Harry whispered as he moved closer. "I still want this. I want you. I've always wanted you." He pressed himself against Ron and kissed his friend's jaw clumsily.

Ron's hands were firm on Harry's upper arms, and he pushed Harry back to arm's length. "Harry," he said warningly. "You have to stop. We can't do this."

Harry pouted up at Ron. "Yes we can. I want this. You want this. Take what you want, Ron. You can do anything to me and I'll love it."

Ron groaned, closed his eyes briefly and then Disapparated them both to the flat, directly to Ron's bedroom. Harry barely had time to regain his footing before he was nearly thrown to the bed and Ron was covering him from head to toe. They stared at each other for a long moment and then Ron leaned down and crushed his lips against Harry's again.

Harry groaned and parted his lips, making a slight whimpering noise as Ron's tongue invaded his mouth. Harry threaded his fingers through the burnished hair at the nape of his friend's neck and kissed back, running his tongue over Ron's.

Ron tasted like beer and tequila, but under all that that was a spicy flavor that Harry thought was all Ron. It was addictive and Harry realized he was rubbing up against Ron as they kissed.

Harry ran his hands down Ron's back and slipped them under his shirt, splaying his palms against his skin. He was hot to the touch, and Harry needed to be closer. "Clothes off," he whimpered, hooking his thigh around Ron's hip and pressing up against him. He knew Ron could feel his erection, he could feel Ron's through their clothes and he wanted nothing between them. "Please Ron."

There was a fumbling noise, then Ron whispered a quick charm, and suddenly their clothes were gone. Harry groaned as Ron's chest pressed against his own, their cocks sliding against each other. Ron pulled back and Harry forced his eyes open, meeting Ron's gaze. Ron's eyes were dark; his pupils large with desire, and Harry grew impossibly harder under his gaze. He couldn't believe that Ron was looking at him that way.

"Ron," he whispered and pulled Ron down into a messy, opened mouthed kiss; all teeth and tongue. He was breathing heavy as Ron's lips slid down his jaw, and latched onto the tender skin where Harry's neck met his shoulder, sucking the skin to a dark purple bruise. Harry knew it would last for days, but he didn't care. He wanted Ron to mark him. Wanted anyone who looked at him to know what they'd been up to.

"I want you to fuck me." The words were equal parts arousing and frightening to Harry, as he'd never gone further than kissing with anyone, not even Ginny. They'd tried one time to have sex, and it had been a disaster. But, in a strange way, it had led to this moment so Harry couldn't feel guilty about it any longer. Harry had kissed very few people in his life, and he'd never kissed another man. He'd never kissed anyone who meant this much to him.

Ron groaned against Harry's neck, causing pleasant shivers to run down Harry's body. Ron lifted his head and dove back in for another kiss. Harry rubbed his tongue against Ron's, feeling very bold and wanton, delighted by the moans the action drew from Ron. He spread his legs and cradled Ron's hips between them, moaning as Ron's hard cock nudged at the sensitive area just below his balls.

"Ron, please," he begged, arching against Ron. "Fuck me." He hadn't known he could be so forward, so vocal, but this was Ron and he trusted Ron not to hurt him. He trusted Ron with his life and it meant so much that Ron was going to be the one to take his virginity. He thought fleetingly of Hermione again, but pushed her image away. Hermione and Ron weren't together. They hadn't worked out and would never work out.

Ron rolled off him suddenly, but Harry didn't have time to worry as, just a moment later, Ron was kneeling between his legs again, fingers shining with something wet. "Turn over," Ron whispered, and Harry had no choice but to obey. "On your hands and knees, Harry. It'll be easier this way."

Harry did as Ron ordered, and moved so his arse was high in the air, spreading his legs as wide as they would go.

He gripped the sheets tightly as Ron's fingers slipped between his arse cheeks and circled over his hole. He whimpered as a finger pressed against and then inside him, wincing at the slight burn. Harry had experimented before with his own fingers, but it had never been anything like this. Ron twirled his finger around, and added a second, making the burn both better and worse as the muscles relaxed around the invasion. He pressed back against Ron, trying to get the fingers deeper inside.

Reaching down and gripping his cock - which was surprisingly still hard, even after the initial burning pain from Ron's ministrations - Harry started to jack himself in time to Ron's fingers

Ron added a third finger and started working them in small circles; gently loosening the muscles. Harry briefly wondered how Ron knew what to do, but the thought was lost as Ron brushed over something that had lights exploding behind Harry's eyelids.

"Ron, fuck, please," Harry whimpered, burying his face in a pillow and raising his arse high in the air, wanting Ron to hit that spot again. "Fuck me, please. Now," he begged, gripping his cock hard to keep from coming. He didn't want to come until Ron was inside him.

"Merlin's balls," Ron grunted, and Harry experienced a moment of emptiness as Ron's fingers slipped from his arse. But then something far larger was pressing against him. "Relax," Ron whispered against his ear, kissing the side of his head, and then Harry was being stretched wide as Ron's cock pressed inside him.

Ron didn't give him time to adjust. Instead he just kept pressing forward until Harry thought he'd been split open. He reached around and gripped Ron's hip, and he gasped as he realized Rom was sheathed inside him completely. He felt fuller than he'd ever felt before and it hurt, but it was a good hurt. His muscles slowly relaxed and he pushed back against Ron, silently asking for more.

Ron pulled back and then pressed forward, slowly at first, but then faster and faster. Pulling all the way out and then slamming back in, brushing over Harry's prostate with nearly every thrust. Harry was unable to do anything but jerk his cock in rhythm with Ron's thrusts and pant into the pillow, his hips snapping back - trying to get more and more of Ron's cock inside him.

Ron reached around them and pushed Harry's hand away from his cock, taking over and stroking Harry fast and hard.

Harry threw his head back and panted, hands curling into fists in the sheets as he moved himself back to meet Ron's thrusts. "Faster. Please," he begged as Ron's cock passed incessantly over that bundle of nerves, causing those delicious fissions of pleasure to run up Harry's spine.

Ron's hips stuttered, and then picked up pace, driving in and out over and over again. Harry mewled, his head and shoulders dropping down to the pillow, his arse moving higher in the air to give Ron better access. Harry felt his balls draw up tight against his body and he came all over Ron's hand and the sheets as Ron hit his prostate. He called out Ron's name as he collapsed against the pillows, his arse still convulsing around his best friend's cock.

Ron groaned his name and bit down hard on Harry's shoulder, marking him, and Harry whimpered as he felt Ron come inside him.

Ron collapsed against Harry's back, pressing him down into the mattress. Harry sighed happily as Ron rolled them so that they were on their sides. Shifting so that he was facing Ron, Harry smiled up into his friend's face and leaned in and kissed Ron slowly, enjoying the aftershocks of his orgasm as he slowly came down. He pulled away and tucked his head under Ron's chin, blinking sleepily. He knew they had to talk, but he was so completely satisfied and boneless at the moment, and it could wait until tomorrow. He barely noticed as Ron cleaned them up and, instead, fell asleep almost instantly.

***

Harry woke the next morning to an empty bed and an aching head. He reached out, touched the other side of the bed and frowned when he noticed how cold it was. He opened his eyes - wincing as the light hit his pupils - and realized that the other pillow wasn't even dented. In fact, it looked as if Ron hadn't slept there at all.

He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair as the previous night came rushing back to him. His body ached in all sorts of new places, and he smiled lazily as he remembered why that was. He fell back against the pillows as memories of Ron's lips and hair and cock filled his mind, allowing himself to remover just how it felt to be filled; to have Ron deep inside him. He sighed happily and rolled out of bed, wrapping the sheet around his body before heading out to look for Ron.

They would have to break it gently to Hermione, but Harry was sure she'd understand. She'd probably even seen it coming given how clever she was. He only hoped she wouldn't hate him, but she'd said herself last night: she and Ron were over. Ron had apparently even told her he might be gay, so surely it wouldn't come as too much of a shock that he and Ron were now together. At least, Harry hoped it wouldn't.

Harry quickly searched their small flat, but saw no sign of Ron. Puzzled, he went back to Ron's bedroom. Harry scanned his eyes across the room before finally noticing the letter leaning against Ron's bedside lamp. He reached for it, dropping down to sit on the edge of the bed; dread bubbling up in his chest as he started to read.

Harry,

I've gone to the Burrow for a few days. I need some time to think. Alone. Mum and Dad are in Romania visiting Charlie, so it'll be quiet there for once.

I'll see you soon. Thank you.

Ron

The letter dropped from Harry's suddenly numb hands, and he stared blankly down at the carpet. Ron had left. They'd made love - No. They'd just fucked hadn't they? And then Ron had left. He was coming back, sure, but he'd still left. And Ron had promised never to do that again, not after that horrible month during the Horcrux search where Slytherin's locket had driven him away. Harry felt the same now as he had felt then, abandoned and bereft and not a little bit angry.

What was even worse though, was that Ron had thanked him. Like what they'd done was some sort of cheap one night stand.

Harry's stomach made a burbling sound, and the queasiness he'd earlier ignored in favor of imagining what his life with Ron would be like, came rushing back. He slid from the bed and stumbled from the room, barely making it to the toilet in time to vomit up the remains of the alcohol in his system. He managed to flush the toilet and haul himself to the sink when he was done, listlessly brushing his teeth and washing his face; wiping away the remains of the tears he hadn't even realized he'd shed.

***

The next few weeks passed slowly for Harry. He'd been able to pretend Ron's letter hadn't hurt him, and they'd fallen back into their best mate routine, which, he supposed, was at least better than nothing.

Ron didn't seem to notice anything was off either, so Harry contented himself with being friends again. Hermione and Ron had gone back to their uneasy truce. They had even gone to dinner together several times as friends. Hermione was currently seeing Stephen Cornfoot, the bloke she'd left the club with that fateful night, and things were seemingly going well for her. As a former Ravenclaw, Stephen shared Hermione's love of books and learning, and the two of them were currently engaged in an affair of the mind. 'An affair of the mind' had been exactly how Hermione had described the relationship to Harry, with uncharacteristic blushing and sighing. Harry hadn't noticed Ron displaying any overt signs of jealousy, and he was hopeful that meant Ron was over her.

It helped that Quidditch season had started again and that Ron was gone more than half the time; traveling with the Cannons. When Ron was home he was usually always off out with various people.

Ron was dating and it was tearing Harry apart, but there was nothing he could do about it. Ron needed time - whatever that meant. And Harry wasn't going to risk possibly ruining his friendship with Ron by demanding something more.

It was partly his own fault though - the dating. He'd told Ron to date. Had told him that it was a good idea for both of them to date other people, but he hadn't really meant it and hadn't thought Ron would follow through. He shouldn't have allowed himself to think that Ron felt the same way he did.

Harry learned quickly how to hide how he felt, both about Ron and about Ron dating. The more Ron dated, the harder Harry worked. He started taking extra shifts, and going on more and more missions with other Aurors, so he was hardly at home much himself. And when Ron was home, Harry was usually sleeping so they didn't see much of each other even when they were both in the same country.

He'd been sleeping more than usual, something he'd chalked up to stress and had even woken up sick to his stomach several times. He attributed it to stress, and since the sickness always wore off by mid-morning he hadn't paid much more attention to it. The tiredness was harder to ignore, but Harry had spent years perfecting the art of working through exhaustion and, although in the past that had been out of necessity, the skill had never gone away.

It was getting harder and harder to function however, and Harry found himself drifting off more regularly at work. Luckily never when he was out on a mission though.

It wasn't until he fell asleep in the middle of a debriefing that Harry knew something wasn't right. His superior noticed as well and, after everyone else had left, he'd called Harry into his office.

"Potter," Robards said, staring at him in that disconcerting, all-knowing way he had. "Is there something you need to tell me?"

"Um, I don't think so, sir," Harry replied, biting his lower lip uncertainly and fighting the urge to slink down in his seat. Robards had a way of making you feel like a recalcitrant child, and Harry hated the feeling.

"Hmmm," Robards sniffed, studying Harry intently. "Take yourself to St Mungos, Potter. Have Lucinda do a full work up and send a report to my office. This is not a request, Potter. I need my Aurors in full working condition, and that does not include falling asleep during a very important debriefing. I expect this to be done today."

Robards' tone left no room for disagreement, and Harry nodded once, and saw himself out. He sent an interdepartmental message to the hospital asking for an immediate appointment. The confirmation came back quickly, and Harry dragged himself off to St. Mungos, dreading every minute of the appointment. He hated infirmaries. Hated hospitals even more. He'd spent enough time in them over the years to never want to grace another with his presence again.

Harry arrived at St. Mungos and made his way to the sixth floor. The Mediwitch on duty at the sign in desk took one look at him and waved him back to the Healer with a quick comment that he looked better than the last time he'd been there.

"At least I'm not bleeding on the floor, this time," he said, winking at her. She simply snorted and continued sorting files. Harry snickered softly, and let himself through the door to the hall that led to the Healer's office. He knocked at the Healer's office door, and then let himself in.

"Mr. Potter, it's good to see you again," Augustus Pye said as Harry entered his office. Pye was the official healer for the Auror department, and Harry had seen him more times than he liked to remember over the past five years. "Please, have a seat." Pye waited until Harry had taken a seat on the examination bed before continuing. "So, Harry, what seems to be the problem?"

"I don't think there's a problem," Harry said evasively. "I'm just tired all the time. And I've woken up sick to my stomach a few times the last couple of weeks. But it always goes away. I think it's just stress. I'm working more than usual, so that's probably all it is." He was starting to feel uncomfortable from the way Pye was eyeing him.

"Hmmm," Pye said, writing a few notes on a pad of paper. "How about your eating habits, anything unusual there? Strange cravings or foods that make you nauseous that you usually like?"

That was an odd question, Harry thought, but answered honestly. "I had kippers for breakfast, which I normally despise, and I can't stomach broccoli recently. So I guess that is a little odd." He chewed on his bottom lip, starting to feel a bit concerned himself. "Why? Is that a symptom of something?"

Pye laughed a little, and stood. "I'm going to run a couple of diagnostic tests, Harry. It's nothing that requires any needles or blood taking, though, so you don't have to give me that look. Just lie back and relax."

Harry snorted, but did as Pye asked and reclined against the bed, staring at the ceilings as Pye cast a series of unfamiliar charms. It didn't take long, and when he was done Pye stepped back and looked at Harry with a curious look on his face. "How's your love life, Harry?"

Harry blushed a deep red and sputtered out a nearly incoherent, "Excuse me?" as he gaped at Pye like a fish out of water. "I don't see how that is any of your business." Harry sat up and moved to the edge of the exam bed, intent on getting the hell out before this grew even more embarrassing.

"Harry, I don't mean to embarrass you," Pye said gently. "I only ask, because what I'm going to tell you is going to be a bit of a shock, and if you have a lover, I'd like him to be here as well."

Harry gaped at Pye, wondering if it was so obvious that he was gay. "Why are you so sure that that if I had a lover, it would be a male one?" he asked, his face still burning from embarrassment. "But no, I don't have a lover, for what it's worth."

Pye looked sympathetic, and pulled a chair closer to the exam bed. "Harry, you're pregnant, and the only way that could happen is if you had unprotected sex with another male," he said, his voice low.

Harry blinked at him; sure there was no way he could have heard that correctly. "What?" he asked, his voice an octave higher than normal. "I could have sworn you just told me I was pregnant, which is impossible because I'm a man."

"I keep forgetting they don't teach sexual education at Hogwarts," Pye said mostly to himself. "While it's not common for men to get pregnant, it's not unheard of, especially in someone as young and powerful as you are, Harry."

"You're not joking," Harry realized, his face draining of all color. "You're really not joking." He looked down and saw that his hands were shaking, and sat on them to hide it.

Pye reached out and clasped Harry's shoulder. "It's not the end of the world," Pye said. "There are procedures that make the birth easier, and of course St. Mungos has the best prenatal care in the Wizarding world. I suggest you hire a midwife as well, and come in for regular check ups at least twice a month."

Harry nodded numbly, unable to think past pregnant and baby. And Ron. It was Ron's baby inside him, and they were barely speaking. There was no way Harry could tell him about this, not until Ron figured out what he wanted. And even then, if Harry wasn't what Ron wanted, he'd have to think of something to tell him.

"Harry, are you going to be all right? Should I owl anyone for you?" Pye asked, and Harry looked up, realizing that Pye had been talking, probably offering advice and instructions.

"No, I'm fine, thank you," Harry said, and hopped off the bed. "I suppose you'll have to tell Robards about this, won't you?"

"I'm afraid so, Harry," Pye replied, walking Harry to the door. "Male pregnancies are rare, and can be difficult, so I'd recommend you take a medical leave. Or if that's not a possibility, keep to a desk assignment until after the baby is born. Your body will be putting itself under enough stress that added stressors could be dangerous."

Harry nodded, his hand instinctively going to his stomach. "I understand, I don't want to do anything that would hurt the baby." He was still completely shell-shocked by the news, but he already loved the baby. He was going to have a family, a little boy or girl who could play with Teddy, and who would call Harry Daddy, and it just caused a well of emotion to rise in his chest. "Thank you, Augustus," he said, using the man's first name. "I'll be in touch."

Augustus nodded and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Make an appointment with Alice for two weeks from today, and make sure you eat appropriately. I'll have Alice owl a few pamphlets and a recommended reading list, as well as some trusted midwives I know of. I'll also take care of talking to Robards for you, though I'm sure he'll want a word with you himself."

"I'd appreciate that," Harry said, heading for the door. "Thanks again." Harry stopped briefly and spoke to Alice, the Mediwitch, to arrange for his next appointment, and then headed home in a daze.

***

The next weeks passed in a blur for Harry. It was a constant barrage of doctor's appointments, dodging Ron and Hermione's questions about his work, and keeping Mrs. Weasley from figuring things out. He wasn't ready to tell anyone, least of all Ron or worse yet, Ron's mother. The midwife he'd found had informed that the first three months of any pregnancy, but especially male pregnancy, were the most dangerous, and there was no guarantee that the baby-or fetus as she insisted upon calling it-would survive past that mark.

After talking with her, Harry refused to think much about the baby growing inside him, beyond making sure he ate correctly and got enough sleep. He put away all the baby name books he'd bought that first week after finding out, and refused to think of something like a nursery. And he especially didn't think about telling Ron, or at least, he tried not to more than once or twice a day.

He spent the weeks after talking with Pye and the midwife attending his appointments, tying up loose ends on any open cases, and arranging for medical leave. He had enough vacation time saved up that along with the allowed paternity leave, he wouldn't have to work past the sixth month of pregnancy.

When he passed the third month mark, took out the books Pye had recommended and disguised them as Muggle detective novels, which he'd always enjoyed so they wouldn't look suspicious if he left them hanging around the flat. He started going shopping at Muggle department stores on his lunch breaks, and hid away any number of tiny socks, shirts and sleepers. He got plenty of indulgent looks from matronly shop keepers, and heard whispers about how his wife was a very lucky woman. He didn't, of course, correct them, but he did spend a lot of time wondering what it would be like to share these experiences with someone else, with Ron.

Ron, however, seemed to not notice anything was different, and continued dating and training for the upcoming Cup match. This would mark the first year in the league's history that the Cannons had a shot at the British National Cup, and if Ron performed well there was a good chance he would be drafted into the England National Team for the 2006 World Cup. When he was home he was jittery and short tempered, and it was definitely not the time for Harry to confess he was pregnant.

There was one thing Harry was grateful for, though, and that was that Ron never brought home his various dates, male or female, and never seemed to go out with someone more than twice. Harry wondered if this was because Ron was starting to realize he was still in love with Hermione, or something different. A small part of him hoped that Ron would choose him, but he'd learned over the years that he hardly ever got what he wanted, and as long as he and Ron were still friends, he could be satisfied.

That didn't change the fact that he knew he had to tell Ron that there was going to be a baby, but he was trying to think of the best way to do so. He needed to let Ron know that he didn't expect anything, that he didn't expect Ron to marry him or anything equally as ridiculous and romantic. He knew Ron would want to be an active father, and Harry had spent weeks practicing the conversation, and had come up with several scenarios that he thought would work out best for everyone.

Harry was five months along by the time the Cannons shocked everyone and won Nationals, one-hundred fifty points to zero. He was starting to show, but he hid the small bump in his baggy clothes and dark robes and no one seemed to notice. He'd gone to the final match, sitting high in the stands, and battled vertigo and heat stroke the entire time. But he'd wanted to see Ron play, and hadn't regretted coming. He'd cheered louder than everyone every time Ron had made a spectacular save, but hadn't stuck around after the game to congratulate his friend. He'd needed to go home and sleep, and was afraid that the heat had been bad for the baby. Ron hadn't come home that night, and Harry had spent the evening dry heaving over the toilet and trying not to think about exactly how Ron was celebrating the win.

The sixth month passed in September and Harry still hadn't figured out how to tell Ron. At the rate he was going, the baby would be six years old before he told Ron that he was the father. He'd taken to avoid Ron at all costs, and by extension his other friends as well. Neville had been starting to look at him oddly around the fourth month, and Harry wasn't ready for anyone to know, not until he'd told Ron. Ron deserved to be the first to know, even if he and Harry weren't a couple.

He wasn't as tired anymore, but he was becoming more and more distracted as the weeks went on. The third time he'd lost an important file at work, Robards had taken him into his office and demanded that his medical leave start early. Harry knew Robards was right, but he wasn't looking forward to having to explain why he was suddenly out of work. He wasn't ready to explain anything, to anyone.

He packed up his things, and after thanking Robards for being so supportive, headed home thinking about everything he wanted to do before the baby came. He only had three more months, and he still had to tell Ron, set up a nursery and pick out a name. He'd decided against finding out the sex of the baby, so he would need at least two names to be prepared. He needed a list, and had a thought that pregnancy was bringing out his inner Hermione. He had lists of all sorts of things, and thought of a new one everyday. It also didn't help that his memory was acting oddly, and the lists were sort of necessary if he wanted to remember anything, up to and including dinner.

He let himself into the flat and was assaulted by sounds of someone throwing dishes in the kitchen. He drew his wand and ran down the hall, expecting to interrupt someone foolish enough to be burglarizing Harry Potter's flat. He skidded to a halt and looked around the kitchen with wide eyes. There was broken crockery and splattered food all over the counters and cupboards. Hermione had her wand leveled at Ron and was so visibly upset her hair was standing on end. Ron didn't look any happier, his face was blotchy with anger and he had his own wand clutched in his hand so hard his knuckles were white.

"You don't understand anything, Ronald," Hermione shouted, throwing another dish at Ron's head. "You're so…" She broke off suddenly as she noticed Harry standing in the doorway, his mouth open in shock. "Harry, you're home early."

Ron spun around and the red drained away from his face and his freckles stood out in full relief against his pale face. "Why are you here?" he asked, looking both guilty and angry.

"Why…I…my dishes," Harry said forlornly, and quite to the shock of everyone involved, burst into tears as he stared at the mess his kitchen had become. He'd just reorganized the shelves too, and had ordered the plates according to size and color.

"Now look what you've done, Ronald," Hermione said scathingly, after she'd recovered a bit. Ron glared at her, but looked apologetically at Harry.

She waved her wand and muttered Reparo, and through his tears Harry noticed that his crockery was repairing itself and rearranging back the way he liked it. Harry wiped away his tears and felt like a complete idiot for having cried over broken dishes, especially when there was the much larger issue of exactly why Hermione and Ron had been breaking those dishes.

"What the hell was going on when I first walked in?" Harry asked, having finally regained control of his emotions. "And why did it have to require the breaking of my dishes?"

"I…" Ron started, but Hermione arched a brow at him and he quieted, moving to sit in a kitchen chair. He slumped down and Harry thought he did a good impression of a sulking teenager and idly wondered if this was what he had to look forward to in sixteen years raising Ron's child.

"It was nothing important, Harry," Hermione said. "It was just Ron being himself, as always." She grabbed her purse and hugged Harry gently. "I'm sorry about the dishes, and I promise I'll make it up to you. You and Ron need to talk, so I'm going. Owl me later, okay?" She leaned up slightly to kiss his forehead, and with one last glare at Ron, she swept from the room.

Harry blinked as she left, not entirely sure what had just happened. "Ron, what was that about?" he asked, sliding into the chair across from his friend. He worried his bottom lip and tried to get Ron to make eye contact, but Ron was studying the table intently. "Ron?" he prodded. "What did she mean, we have to talk? What's going on?"

Ron jumped up suddenly, and paced along the short length of the kitchen. "It's nothing. We just had one of our fights, we're alright now. It's nothing." He turned to look at Harry, smiling. "So, Thai take away for dinner? I'm starved."

Harry stared at Ron incredulously, unable to believe that was all the explanation he was getting. "It's only four o'clock," he said, when what he really wanted to demand more of an answer. "Have you a date tonight? It's Friday; don't you normally have a date?" Harry couldn't keep the bitter jealousy from his voice.

"Would you care if I had a date?" Ron asked sullenly. "You certainly never act like you care, so why are you asking?"

Harry opened his mouth to say of course he didn't care, but the past six months of anger and jealous suddenly spilled forward as he shouted, "Of course I care, you complete and utter ass. I'm in love with you and going to have your baby. So of course I care that you're dating. Are you really that thick?" Harry had jumped up and was advancing on Ron, his eyes wild with anger. "I love you, I've loved you almost longer than I can remember, and you're too dumb to see it. Do you think I just go around having sex with random men, Ron? Do you think I'm some sort of slut-"

"Harry? Shut up," Ron said, and Harry had a moment to realize how close they'd gotten, before he was pressed against a wall and kissed.

Harry kissed back, overwhelmed by the fact that Ron was kissing him. He pushed at Ron's shoulders, and looked up at him in bewilderment. "Ron?"

Ron laughed a little, and rolled his eyes. "And Hermione says I'm the one with the emotional maturity of a teaspoon." He leaned down and kissed Harry again. "Honestly, Harry," he mimicked one of Hermione's favorite expressions. "Don't you get it?"

Harry shook his head wordlessly, staring at Ron in wonder.

"You're a bit thick yourself, Potter, but I love you," Ron said, kissing the tip of Harry's nose. "And I haven't been dating. Not for months. Instead of going out, I was going to George's shop, and helping him with a new project." He looked embarrassed. "I guess I wanted to make you jealous."

Harry gaped at him, wondering if he'd heard correctly. "But…you thanked me, and went to your parents! In a letter!" he accused, pointing a shaking finger into Ron's chest and poking.

Ron scrubbed a hand through his hair and smiled sheepishly. "I didn't know what else to say, Harry. I'd just had the best sex of my life, with my best friend, who happened to be male! I freaked out a little, but when I came back you didn't seem to want to talk about it, and Merlin, Harry, I didn't want to push. You were drunk, so I just, I don't know, I just thought you thought it was a mistake."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't think of anything and shut it again with a snap. "Oh," he whispered weakly, thinking back over the past months and seeing things differently. He'd cut Ron off every time his friend had tried to talk about that night. He'd been afraid Ron was going to say it'd been a mistake, and he hadn't wanted to hear it. "I thought you thought it was a mistake."

Ron laughed a little and rested his forehead against Harry's. "I know. I realize that now. We've both been idiots." Ron leaned in and kissed Harry again, gently.

Harry moaned as Ron's tongue traced over his lips, and parted them with a sigh, welcoming Ron inside. It felt like coming home. The kiss lasted a long time, until they both had to come up for air. Harry rested his head against Ron's chest, sighing happily. He felt warm and sleepy all of a sudden, and wanted nothing more than to lie down with Ron and take a nap. He was nearly drifting off when Ron pulled away suddenly, his eyes wide with shock.

"Did you say you're pregnant, Harry?"

Epilogue: 6 Months Later

Harry took one last look at his naked reflection and sighed; glad they didn't have a talking mirror. It had been three months since little Jamie had been born, and he still wasn't sure the stretch marks were ever going away. He traced the faint silvery lines with the tips of his fingers, and wondered if Ron minded them. His stomach wasn't completely flat either, not like Ron, who was Quidditch toned and gorgeous. Sighing, he turned away from the mirror and drew on a pair of pajama pants and one of Ron's shirts and climbed into bed.

He heard the shower turn off, and turned on his side to watch Ron as he padded naked from the bathroom to the bedroom, drying his hair with a towel. His hair was still wet, rivulets of water running down his neck. His cock was nestled in a soft bed of red curls, and was half hard. Harry licked his lips unconsciously as Ron walked closer and paused by the bed.

"What are you wearing?" Ron asked, taking in the baggy clothes Harry had put on with amusement. "Take it off, please."

Harry flushed all over at the quiet command in Ron's voice, and slid from the bed. Before he even had a chance to undress himself, Ron's hands were at his waist, skimming over the soft skin of his stomach. Ron pushed the shirt up and over Harry's head, leaning on for a kiss as he threw the shirt away.

"Not that I don't find you incredibly sexy when you're wearing my clothes," Ron whispered against Harry's neck. "But the baby is with my parents and I don't want to spend our first night alone since Jamie was born with clothes on." Throughout his short speech, he'd somehow divested Harry of his pants, leaving them both naked and eager.

"I have stretch marks," Harry whispered, though he felt foolish about the insecurity when Ron's cock was poking him in the stomach. "They're ugly."

Ron laughed, but it wasn't a mean laugh, and pulled away. "You're incredible, Harry," he said, cupping Harry's cheek in his hand. "I love you, and I love your stretch marks." Ron sank to his knees and kissed the hated marks, tracing his tongue along the silvery lines. "They're beautiful, and I hope they never go away."

"Ron," Harry gasped, hands clutching at Ron's shoulders for balance. "I love you so much." And then he was incapable of thinking or speaking as Ron's warm mouth engulfed his erection, sucking him to full hardness.

Ron ran his tongue over Harry's cock, swirling it over the head. Harry fell back against the bed, but Ron never stopped sucking and licking, just made adjustments for the new position and continued his ministrations. Harry whined high in his throat as Ron's fingers pressed between his cheeks, and his lover slipped two inside him without warning, heading straight for his prostate. He came in a flood down Ron's throat, slightly embarrassed he'd come so quickly.

Swallowing, Ron pulled off Harry's cock with an obscenely loud pop, and grinned up at Harry. "Beautiful," he whispered. "I want to try something Harry. Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do," Harry said, surprised he could still form coherent thought. "You know I do."

"Turn over and spread your legs wide," Ron ordered, his voice husky with desire.

Harry eagerly did as Ron asked, body quivering from expectation. He lay on his stomach and spread his legs as wide as they would comfortably go, waiting for Ron to act. He didn't have to wait long. Ron's fingers spread his ass cheeks wide, and the first swipe of Ron's tongue made Harry gasp.

"Ron?" Harry's voice was shaking, and he moaned loudly as Ron slowly pressed his tongue inside Harry's hole. "Fuck, oh fuck yes."

Harry clutched at the sheets as Ron's tongue worked him open. He tried to press back, but Ron's hands held him still so all he could do was lie there as Ron tongue-fucked him. His cock grew hard against the sheets, but he couldn't move his hips up enough to get a hand around his cock, and mewled helplessly.

"Ron, please!" he begged, but he didn't know what he was begging for, if he wanted Ron to continue or stop, to fuck him or keep up what he was doing with his tongue, or everything. He settled on wanting everything.

Ron chuckled, the action sending vibrations of pleasure through Harry's body, and Harry came again, untouched, against the sheets. The orgasm went on and on, and left him shaking, pliable. He didn't protest as Ron drew away and rolled him over. He smiled sleepily up at Ron, sighing when Ron leaned down to kiss him. The kiss was spicy and dark, and Harry realized that he was tasting the most intimate part of himself on Ron's tongue.

Ron's hands ran over his skin, and he wrapped Harry's legs around Ron's waist. Frantic fingers found Harry's stretched opening, and pressed inside, stretching him further. Harry whimpered at the intrusion, and pulled Ron into another kiss as Ron's cock thrust inside. The feel of Ron's cock inside him, brushing over his prostate brutally, caused Harry's cock to twitch, and grow hard again. Ron thrust a few times, sliding deep into Harry and then almost all the way out, jacking Harry's cock to the same rhythm, and they came together.

Ron slumped down on Harry, who was nearly catatonic from coming three times in such a short period of time. Harry sleepily patted Ron's shoulder as the other man cleaned them up with a quick charm. Harry was only half awake as Ron arranged them so Harry was draped over Ron, his head tucked between Ron's neck and shoulder. Ron traced lazy patterns over Harry's back, and Harry snuggled down happily. He loved this part of sex almost as much as the sex itself. He meant to tell Ron that, but was asleep before the words formed.

-end-