Author:Lash_Larue
Title:Percy, Chapter 2 "Aftermath"
Pairing:Percy and *sigh* Umbridge
Rating:Say R for an overarching sort of, creepiness, I guess
Summary:Well, you read the last one, this happens after. Something had to happen after...
Warnings:Mild language; Umbridge; err-ummm,bit of a horror movie thing I guess, and, oh yeah; mpreg
Word Count:2000, round about.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling, don't tell what I did with them, OK?
Possible Squick: I guess; nowhere near as gross as the first part, but I didn't sleep all that well the night I finished this. If you haven't read part one there is still time to escape.
Percy slumped against the wall outside Umbridge's office, thanking all that there was that his extraordinary run of luck was for once headed in the right direction. The usually bustling corridor was completely deserted.
"Nightmare," he breathed, mostly to himself, "an absolute, total nightmare."
He mentally deducted the cost of a new wand from his savings. He would not re-enter that room for a Philosopher's Stone of his very own.
He straightened up, reached deep into his reserves of fortitude, (which were considerable, to be fair about it) and began a somewhat shaky progress towards the exit. His stride steadied as that horrid office faded into the distance, and he picked up the pace a little. By the time he marched past the fireplaces, he was walking as fast as he felt that it was proper to do in the Ministry that it had been his life's ambition to work for. It did not occur to him to actually use one of the fireplaces, nor to Apparate to his destination. He was moving, and at the moment that sufficed.
Just then, there were only two things he wanted from the Ministry. The first was his monthly salary, and that was secure in the pocket of his robes. The second was distance, and he was working on that. The elevator rattled open, Percy stepped inside, and the doors closed.
"Merlin's beard,' he said softly as he slumped against the wall of the lift. He felt his stomach lurch at the image that conjured up of where his face had just been, and resolved to find a new epithet immediately. Perhaps some colorful Muggle phrase or other would make a nice change. The lift shuddered to a stop, and Percy stepped out of the phone booth. He then began walking towards his room at the Leaky Cauldron. He was walking quite fast, and in fact he began to run. He found, somewhat to his surprise, that he was very good at running, and he was soon passing cyclists, taxis, and the occasional low-flying bird. In plain truth, Percy was faster than Hell, or at least he was trying to be.
He banged through the door of the Cauldron, skidded to a stop at the bar and leaned on it, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath.
"Blimey, Mr. Weasley!" exclaimed Tom the innkeeper. "What's happened to you, sir? You're in a right state!"
"I don't want to talk about it,' Percy gasped out, 'and I beg you to never again call me Mr. Weasley. The title has recently fallen under some unpleasant associations." He shuddered mightily. In point of fact it had been given an ineluctable stench, but he had a plan for that.
"Of course, sir, what shall I be calling you then, sir?"
"I don't care; Percy, Perce, red-headed blood-traitor, arsehole; absolutely anything at all other than…" he waved his hand carelessly. Tom did not pretend to understand, but he was a businessman first and foremost, and the customer was always right.
"Certainly, Perce. Now then, what can I do for you?"
Percy threw a pouch of galleons on the bar. "I want you to take this month's rent out of that, and have the balance sent to my room in the form of firewhisky. I want three bottles of your best, and I want the rest of it the cheapest, rawest stuff that you have. Volume is important. I want the lot in my room by the time I get there, and then I do not wish to be disturbed, by anyone, for a period of 24 hours. And I should mention that I have recently discovered that I can run like a bastard."
Tom's jaw dropped. "Of course, Perc- blimey! 'E really can run like a bastard!" Tom got busy.
Percy crashed into his room, slammed the door, shot the bolts, and then pushed a heavy wardrobe in front of the door. Only then did he look around. He saw three very dusty bottles on the table, and a gratifyingly large stack of crates by the door. He swiftly stripped off his clothing, binned it, and then hurriedly carried the crates into the loo, where he began to pour the whisky into the tub. The bottles were empty, and the tub was full. He seized a scrubbing brush and plunged into the whisky. Once he was totally submerged, he began to scrub every part of himself.
Perhaps the whisky leached in through his skin, or perhaps it was just that he was breathing it in, but after several minutes in the bath he felt the edge of his desperation begin to blunt.
"Thank you," he breathed to whoever was listening. He had better control of his mind now, and he thought his plan had a chance of success. He emerged from the bath, toweled off, and sat at the table. He opened the first dusty bottle and drained it at a go. A merciful fog descended as he reached for the second one….
Percy awoke in a drifting cloud of white. The light was a little bright, but apart from that, he was quite comfortable. He looked around. He saw to his surprise that he was in a hospital bed, although a much nicer one than he had ever seen before. The enchanted windows displayed a pastoral scene, and he could actually hear the birds singing. He settled back and allowed himself to relax. "Well,' he thought, 'if I am dead, at least I seem to have gone to heaven." He was just about to drift back into sleep when he heard the voices.
"…amnedest thing I've ever seen. Been in a coma for six months, seems to have a great toad or something growing inside of him."
Percy's eyes snapped open.
"Look," someone exclaimed, 'he's awake!" Percy found himself surrounded by a sea of white-coated mediwizards. "And how are you feeling then, Mr. Weasley?" a voice enquired.
"Call me Percy please, or arsehole, anything but…"
"Quite right Perce, Tom told us of your preference of address, it's just been so long we forgot. And of course, you are a very important patient."
"What do you mean?" Percy asked. He knew that he was important, but it was the first time anyone else had confirmed it.
"Well, Perce, Madame Umbridge herself has taken a personal interest in your case. Insisted on the very best of everything for you, luxury accommodations, top staff, round the clock nursing care, the lot," said the healer proudly.
Percy had not heard much of it after the "Madame Umbridge" part, and he thought he felt ice water trickling down his spine. He wondered why that was.
"We notified her as soon as you woke up, and… well here she is now. We'll just leave you two alone to talk."
The toad-like face of Dolores Umbridge swam into view, a broad smile on the wide lips. "Hello, Mr. Weasley, dear,' she trilled brightly, 'and how are we today?"
At the sound of the, "Mr. Weasley, dear", the whole hellish episode came roaring back. Percy clenched his teeth and groaned.
"Don't worry dear,' Dolores cooed, 'it will be some time yet, she's just exercising a bit, that's all."
Percy didn't understand one bit of that , what the hell was she getting at?
"And just who, precisely, is 'she', Madame Umbridge, and why should I care about, or even be aware of, her physical training program?" Percy said coldly.
"Oh, you don't know? Well then, let me be the first to break the wonderful news to you. You have a little Umbridge in the oven, Mr. Weasley dear." Percy gazed down in horror at the ring studded fingers patting his terribly swollen stomach.
Some time later, he awoke to the feel of a cool cloth laving his brow. Unfortunately, that was as good as it got, for when he opened his eyes, he saw…
"Welcome back, Mr. Weasley dear. Oh, I'm sorry, the healers tell me you prefer to be called Perce, or Percy now."
"Call me Mr. Weasley."
"Of course, Mr. Weasley dear, it does better suit the dignity of your position."
"What position?"
"Well, I suppose you could say 'mother', but really 'incubator' is a more accurate term."
That began to make a horrifying bit of sense, and he looked down again at his swollen belly. He got dizzy, and he nearly puked, but he held on.
There was steel in Percy Weasley.
"How is this possible?" Percy asked as calmly as he could.
"Well," Umbridge began, "this started with my great-great-grandmother, Beeotcha Umbridge. She decided, and quite properly so, that Umbridge women were much too important to suffer the pain and indignity of ordinary childbirth, but that it was obviously of crucial importance that the line be preserved. So using her great magical powers, she created the Umbridge-tad!"
"The what?"
"Umbridge-tad, Mr. Weasley dear, Umbridge-tad. Umbridge women, during their nubile years, (she paused in her speech to run her hands along her body, Percy cringed) carry within their wombs a tiny little wriggling thing that, in the proper environment, will blossom into a carbon-copy of that same Umbridge woman!"
Percy considered that. The objective part of his mind realized that this was quite a remarkable piece of magic, but… "Do you mean to say, that I'm knocked up?" blurted Percy.
"Oh, I would never put such a miracle in those crude terms. But essentially, yes." She beamed at him. A fly flew by, and Percy snagged it with his tongue. Dolores clapped her hands in delight. "Just like her Mummy Dolores! Oh, Mr. Weasley dear, I am so excited!"
Percy was fairly excited as well, but once again he rather thought that they had differing viewpoints on the subject. Getting a firm hold on himself, he asked, "How exactly did you manage to knock me up then?"
"Oh, you get all the credit there, Mr. Weasley dear! You see, only when an Umbridge woman is brought to the heights of ecstasy does the Umbridge-tad feel free to swim gleefully into her new home! Little did I suspect, when I gave you your little Honeydukes surprise, that you would prove so worthy!"
Percy, who had always enjoyed honors and awards, was finding that he had gone a bit off of this particular one.
"And just how am I supposed to deliver this sainted offspring? I seem to be lacking an essential item of equipment for the purpose."
Dolores Umbridge smiled widely. Percy had never before noticed just how sharp her teeth were. "Oh,' trilled Umbridge, 'don't you worry about that, Mr. Weasley dear. She'll manage that, all- by - herself…."
Percy woke screaming, his head lying in a pool of his own vomit. He had never seen such a beautiful sight in his life. "Only a dream… oh thank God, it was only a dream. Imagine, me; knocked up. What kind of sick mind comes up with a thing like that? I need therapy." He surveyed the litter before him.
Two of the dusty bottles were empty. The other had been uncorked, but remained full. Percy felt a little nauseated, and he had a small headache, but it wasn't too bad, especially considering what he had soaked in, and drunk. "Thank goodness I had sense enough to buy the good stuff to swallow," he congratulated himself.
He took stock of the situation. First thing, obviously, was to clear up this mess. Then clean himself up, post his resignation and look for a new position. "I could go work with Charlie,' he mused, 'there's nothing scary about dragons any longer." The more he thought about it, the better he liked it. Fresh air, out in the country… Penelope would love the country. He was actually starting to feel optimistic, like things really were going to turn out for the best.
He had come through fire, and emerged as tempered steel.
The color rose in his cheeks, and his hawk-like gaze looked boldly into the future…
He felt a sort of wriggle, just behind his navel.
Percy reached for the bottle….