The morning of his third month of pregnancy found Harry staring into a toilet bowl. His stomach lurched, and he opened his mouth again, just before a torrent spewed out. As it subsided, he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeping robes.
"What the-?" he asked the smooth porcelain.
"Morning sickness, mate," said a voice from the doorway. Harry turned; Ron was standing there, clearly trying to hold back laughter "My mother had it when she was pegnant with me."
"If she was pregnant with you, how do you-"
"My father made notes."
"Why wo-"
"You're also starting to show around the middle," Ron knelt, and poked Harry's stomach.
"I was showing in the infirmary, remember?"
"That was just one of the side effects of the spell. It went down, in case you didn't notice."
"Side effects?" Harry's mouth twitched. "Pregnancy spells have side effects?" He started to laugh, for what felt like the first time in a long while. Ron joined in too, right up until Harry lunged for the toilet again. After a few minutes, the retching stopped, and Harry wiped his mouth again on the now-filthy sleeve of his robe.
"Could you help me up?"
"To the bed?"
"No, the bath." Harry pointed at the window; golden streaks were beginning to shine through the stained glass, and the Gryffindor sixth-years were beginning to stumble, yawning, into the bathroom.
"Can I get you anything?"
"My robes, some pumpkin ice cream, and olives. Lots of olives."
Subtext for the R/H shippers? Whatever gave you that idea?