This fic will contain MPreg, slash and mentions of past non-con. If those are not your thing then please turn back and consider yourself warned. I do not own Harry Potter because if I did there would be a lot more slash. :)
The relentless tempo of the rain beating its tattoo on the worn roof of The Burrow was the sound that Harry awakened to on that early Autumn morning. He had been deep in, a thankfully dreamless, sleep until the steadily increasing beat cut through the fog of slumber and drew him to a sudden wakefulness that had him groaning into the pillow.
He had never been one to wake slowly(What with the Voldemort induced nightmares and the nightmares of the natural kind he is used to waking up abruptly) however until that day he had never left the bed at such a speed as the one he managed when he sprang from his sheets and ran across the empty hallway, slamming into the bathroom and dropping to his knees on the cold tile to immediately empty the contents his stomach into the porcelain bowl.
Vomiting is never a pleasant experience but vomiting in the morning is particularly loathsome and for a while it seemed like it would never end as he continued to retch until he physically couldn't be sick anymore. Due to stress he had been avoiding meals of late and as such there was never much in his stomach. Once his retches finally ceased and he was left with his swimming vision and his fever he pressed his sweaty forehead onto the freezing porcelain, glad for its cold ceramic kiss.
He had no idea how long he stayed like that, wishing more than anything that he had never woken up but eventually a large and calloused hand dropped onto his bare shoulder startling a jump from his exhausted body. "easy mate its only me, are you ok?" came a the very familiar voice of his best friend and Harry felt his body relaxing again. He was not sure that he could answer, too scared that if he opened his mouth again his body would take it as an invitation to begin the Vomiting once more.
It did not seem that Ron required an answer however as after a short pause he continued to speak, his tone low and laced in brotherly concern "Hermione told me she caught you throwing up yesterday as well mate, whats wrong? are you sick? you have been looking paler than usual".
Harry didn't know who Ron was talking to, him or himself as he continues to whittle on and to be honest he was growing annoyed. Yes he has kept being sick recently but he was sure that he was just coming down with a bug, everyone gets them and he had heard that they tend to attack when you are feeling low.
What with the end of the war and so many deaths to contend with it all fitted and he saw no reason to question it, all he needed was rest and plenty of fluids. The raven haired teen shivered at the thought that he might have to go and see a healer, if there was one place on earth he hated it was hospitals. So sterile and quiet, almost as if they are trying to remind you of how much death takes place within that buildings four walls.
Gathering himself Harry finally sat up properly, the area of the toilet bowl he had been pressing his head against was just as warm as his feverish skin by now anyway and the action was redundant. Wiping away the lingering spit from his mouth with the back of his hand he grimaced and resolved to brush his teeth as soon as he stood up.
Turning wide, red rimmed eyes on Ron he cleared his throat and then began in a somewhat hoarse tone "I'm fine Ron, I'm probably just getting the flu or something and I need to sleep it off, I've been developing the symptoms for a while".
The concerned redhead looked doubtful at the explanation. He would be more than happy to let Harry have his wish and sleep it off but he knew Hermione would kill him if she found out that he had found their best friend throwing up and not told her, she was always so worried about Harry and protective of him these days and to anger her by neglecting Harry's health would be a near fatal mistake.
Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly with one rough hand Ron replied in an apologetic tone "I think you should see a healer, if this has been going on for a while... it could be anything". He had never been good at this sort of thing and for a moment he curses the fact that it had to be him finding Harry like this and not his mum or Hermione.
Having expected Ron to take the excuse at face value Harry's face fell into lines of shock that he quickly tried to hide so as to not offend his friend. " honestly Ron, I don't need to see a healer, they will just tell me its the flu and send me home". He tried desperately.
Ron was , by now, feeling immensely uncomfortable with the situation and it showed in his posture. He hated being the one to have to tell people what to do when they didn't want to do it, it just wasn't his style. He could demand that Harry go and see a healer but that would just be to weird- he can't let him carry on like this, getting iller and iller though and so he decides on a compromise "fine, we'll go and see mum and if she says you have to go then you have to go ok?".
The dark haired teen groaned and allowed his head to fall back onto the rim of the toilet, too tired to hold it up any longer. He knew that Molly would certainly make him go to St. Mungo's - ever since the war ended a few months ago she had been treating him as though he were made of finely spun glass and she would not allow something like this to go unchecked. There was nothing he could do, however, to stop Ron from telling his mum except beg and as a last ditch effort he decided to try.
" please? you know how i feel about hospitals and I'll definitely have to go there if you tell your mum. You know how she's been recently" He stopped himself before he ended up accidentally saying something offensive about Mrs Weasleys overbearing nature.
He could see the redhead think it over, consider it and almost give in before he grimaced and said "sorry mate no can do, Hermione will have my head if she finds out". This was true, Harry knew but he could not stop himself from feeling a childish stab of betrayal.
An hour later and Harry found himself feeling much the same way but in a different location, one of the many healers offices in St. Mungos. The room was painted in a green so light it was almost white and was almost totally devoid of decoration, besides on family photo that sat on the desk of the rather severe looking healer with what Harry assumed to be his wife and child. The adults in the photo barely moved, looking at Harry with stern expressions as the child wiggled in its mothers arms.
It was during his perusal of the photo that the healer returned to the room, looking as stern in life as he did in the photo. The man appeared to be in his early forties, his hair (what was left of it) was a dark black streaked with copious amounts of grey and his face was long and pinched, full of sharp angles.
The angular face reminded Harry of someone, or more likely a family of people- all people that he would rather forget and he forcefully tried to crush and batter away the memories as they tried to rise up, threatening to envelop him in a sheet of the iciest panic. He could smell the blood that had been in the dungeon room, his own, and he could faintly hear the screams and cries of the Malfoy's other prisoners- all of a sudden oxygen seemed in incredibly short supply and his throat was closing up until a surprisingly kind voice cut through the abyss of memories "Mr Potter?".
That voice, he used it as a Centre, he wasn't in the dungeons anymore, he was in the healers office and Voldemort was dead, The Malfoy's awaiting trial. He was safe. He repeated that word over and over to himself, safe, safe, until finally he calmed and his vision swam back into focus.
Now that he could see again he came face to face with a very concerned looking man, the healer, who was looking at him with worry, his wand in his hand, and standing as though he were just about to act. Harry gave him a weak smile and rushed to try and explain " I'm sorry... sometimes... I... its the memories" He couldn't seem to articulate an explanation but the Healer seemed to get it and he shook his head, signaling that Harry need not say anymore. He was grateful as he was not sure whether he would be able to keep the panic at bay this time and he took one last calming breath as the healer sat elegantly in his seat.
" Now Mr. Potter I'm Healer Martin and now that we have you calmed could you please explain to me what it is that bought you here in the first place?" Harry began to talk, reeling of his list of symptoms and answering questions when they were asked. Healer Martin proved to be the very contradiction of his appearance and a very nice man. He listened to each detail that Harry would tell him and then ask appropriate questions, never prying more than he had to.
By the time Harry had finished with his explanation of symptoms the mans previously smooth brow was furrowed into deep lines that suggested puzzlement, his eyes slightly distant as he appeared to think over the options. Eventually his brown optics snapped back into focus and he said " Mr Potter, if you wouldn't mind I would like to run some tests that would be easier if you were lying down, do you think you could make your way over to the bed?".
By this point the teen was growing worried, if it were a simple flu or bug Martin would have known immediately and sent him away with a course of pepper up's wouldn't he? so what was it ? why was it that he was currently making his way over to the plush bed where he lay down as the healer ran his wand over him, chanting the occasional spell, each of which seemed to make a different colored ball of light appear.
At the appearance of a pale yellow bubble of light somewhere near his abdomen the mans dark eyebrows shot up into his hairline and he repeated the spell again, and again, apparently making sure that the result had been correct. After the third casting determined the same result he lowered his wand, turning to look at Harry with a look of pure bewilderment. "Mr potter- Harry. Perhaps you should come and sit down".
He said kindly and by now Harrys head was full of the possibilities, was he dying? ' oh Merlin I have something terminal' he thought. 'Or perhaps Voldemort got a final curse in before he died and it was slow acting'. It seemed unfair, that he should have carried out his duty, rid the world of the madman that was trying to kill him and now he would die due to his own body.
Sensing his thoughts the healer began to speak as soon as Harry was seated " there is no need to look quite so horrified Harry, you are not dying, it is merely something so rare that it has only occurred twice in the past 100 years".
For a moment the teen's panic continued until the words settled in and he was hit with a desperate hope " I'm not going to die?" he asked, not really able to believe it but when the healer shook his head confidently and Harry could see no lies lying in his eyes he sagged in relief, almost forgetting for moment that there was still something strange happening in his body.
Healer Martin waited for Harry to collect himself a little before clearing his throat and looking slightly awkward " There is no easy way to tell you this Mr Potter but sometimes in wizards there are genetic anomalies... no body knows what causes them, other than the fact that magic is involved but... there are changes that happen to the make up of the body, significant ones. I don't quite know how to tell you this, but you are pregnant". He finishes, again wearing a face of utter earnest fascination.
For a moment Harry wanted to laugh- it all seemed like on big joke and he actually began to laugh, the first notes slipping from his lips before he thought on what the healer said and remembered a story that Hermione had been telling him last year. He had only half been listening but he did know that it had been about a man back in the 50's who got pregnant and was shunned from society for it.
Suddenly all amusement died as quickly as though it had never been there and the only emotions Harry could feel were the sickeness and terror, leaking into him from every orifice and filling him until he couldn't breathe. He couldn't be pregnant, he refused to accept it- the only people that had ever... taken him were those beasts and he couldn't- oh Merlin.
Before the healer could blink Harry was gone from the room, running through the corridors unseeing as he tried to escape, get outside and find some air to fill his lungs. They felt empty, useless as he tried to draw in breath, his throat had closed up and he couldn't think, his stomach was filled with lead and the only sound he could hear was the rushing of his blood in his ears.
At least that was keeping the sound of the screams away, the sounds of the Death Eaters words as they pounded into his abused body again and again, one after another after another and it never seemed to end. He couldn't cope, he was going to die there he knew it and he only wished it would be quick.
His vision was filled with tears and there was a blackness creeping into the edge of his sight, he didn't know where he was anymore, all he knew were the memories that had consumed him and then suddenly blackness and he fell to the floor, unconscious.
So, opinions? I have very clear ideas about where this is going and I'm excited about it so I would appreciate reviews and feedback please. Thank you very much :)