Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Pregnancy Can Be A Bitch ❯ Flight In the Night ( Chapter 2 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Sleep Remedy 
A group of death eaters venture to the Borough to kidnap Ron and find it easier than they expected.
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 08.26.2008 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.6K | Visits: 459 | Status: Work In Progress
A group of death eaters venture to the Borough to kidnap Ron and find it easier than they expected.
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 08.26.2008 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.6K | Visits: 459 | Status: Work In Progress
“Pregnancy Can Be A Bitch”
-Written by Sleep Remedy-
Chapter Two: Flight in the Night
It was a quiet night in the Borough. Crickets were chirping in the soft mid-summer night air. Little cabbage butterflies flitted silently from flower to flower, stealing succulent nectar and then drifting off into the woods surrounding the quaint home in search of more and better food. There was the croak of frogs echoing from a pond nearby and even the quiet splash of fish as they jumped and played in the pleasantly warm and clear pool.
Warm light flooded between the cracks of Mrs. Weasely's curtains onto obnoxiously green grass. The sound of happy voices conversing with one another could be heard from various areas of the home. In the kitchen, Fred and George enjoyed a seemingly serious talk about specially designed bottle rockets for the nostrils. Above the kitchen, the faint light of a bedside lamp fell through the windowpanes as Ginny happily read the newest of her numerous and highly classified Boy's Love novels. It was an especially good one about a pair of businessmen who were in love, but still attempting to maintain their professional lives. Girls apparently love that kind of angst. Just to the right, a softer and more muted light filtered through the slightly more frilly curtains of Mr. And Mrs. Weasely's room. They were having some quiet and hopefully undisturbed fun making their own little love story. Let's not get anymore detailed than that, shall we?
And, of course, our favorite little heroic wizards, Harry and Ron, were in the living room, crowded around the box that looked suspiciously like a magically powered rip-off television set. A tell tale announcer voice was shouting out amazing moves and scores in the same tone as any other announcer for any other game anywhere else in the world. Maybe they go to school to all talk like that? Either way, the two boys were watching a highly entertaining Quidditch game and were so intent on the “television” that they didn't even notice the soft, but unmistakable sounds emanating from directly above their heads from their two summertime guardians.
- - - - -
Outside of the Weasely residence, there was a rather obvious rustling of the bushes next to the pumpkin patch. From within the scant protection of the bushes, five or six Death Eaters pushed and shoved at one another in an attempt to get as close to the home without absolutely pummeling one another. Phrases such as, “Get the hell off me!” and “Stop touching me!” and “Get away! Your robe smells like pond scum!” as well as, “Well, duh! I fell in the pond!”
Thankfully, a resounding, “Shut Up!” silenced the crowd of imposing and terrifying wizards. “If you don't shut up right now,” the adolescent, yet commanding voice, yelled, “I'll turn around, we'll go home, and you can all tell the Lord why he doesn't have a forcefully inseminated child!” screamed Draco Malfoy, angrily placing his thin pale hands on his small pointed hips and jutting out his chin. He wasn't very threatening, but then again, the Death Eaters weren't all that hard to scare. At least, not this dozen or so. They fearfully shrank away from the adolescent before one, baring a yellow felt number one on his chest came forward.
“Master Malfoy,” he said, cautiously, “How exactly are we to accomplish this?” he asked tentatively.
“I have no idea,” the boy replied easily, running an easy hand through his hair and looking rather indifferent and dashing.
“W-what?” Death Eater number one asked in confusion.
“That's not my job. My job is to kidnap the Weasely prat and then hand him over to Pettigrew. Apparently, he also found a perfect spell to impregnate the guy,” Draco explained, shivering a little. He had heard second hand about the sex dolls. Though it put a deep fear in him to think of himself as an object of sex doll adulation, he was also quite happy to have sold well. He would much rather not be birthing a butt baby.
“I-I see! I humbly apologize for-” but, Death Eater Number One was abruptly cut off as a large mousy man appeared out of thin air with a large resounding crack.
“Dear Draco! Where is my most beloved subject!” Pettigrew exclaimed excitedly.
“We haven't gotten him yet. I was waiting for these dorks to catch up so that I could send them in to tear him from the house kicking and screaming,” Draco explained matter-of-factly.
“Dear Draco!” Pettigrew chided lightly, chuckling to himself and completely missing the aggravated twitch in Draco's wand hand that many younger wizards at Hogwarts could have and would have told the pathetic wizard was a hint at impending doom. “Draco, you mustn't tear a mother from her nest so insensitively! We must handle dear Ron with the utmost caution! After all, he is going to bare the Lord's child. That makes him a very important person.”
“Lucky him...” muttered Draco, almost feeling sorry for the Weasely kid, but not bad enough to not to laugh at him as he would when Ron had to waddle down the corridors of Hogwarts that year. “So! How do you propose we capture and impreg- uh, cast your spell on him?” Draco asked, tumbling over the word pregnancy as a pink dressed waddling Ron came back to the forefront of his mind.
“Well, of course, Ruffies!”
“... Am I allowed to laugh?” Death Eater Number One asked quietly.
Draco, who was already curled up in a ball at Pettigrew's feet laughing raucously could only nod and point and laugh harder at the dumpy little man before him.
“Why are you laughing?!” Peter asked indignantly, pouting and holding up the little vial of white pills. “The man on the corner assured me that these would make impregnating someone extremely easy.”
Draco Malfoy then began to hyperventilate and proceeded to lay on his side and laugh/gasp for breath uncontrollably.
“Sir, I believe those are a drug used only to knock out young muggle girls at Frat parties,” one of the more intelligent Death Eaters commented, feeling that his muggle studies had finally come in handy.
“Oh dear! So, then, this won't aid me in impregnating Ronald?” Pettigrew asked dejectedly.
“Impregnate?!” screamed/squeaked a most distressed and unsettled red head from behind them and just beyond the line of bushes.
“Oh,” expressed Pettigrew.
“Dear...” continued Death Eater Number Five.
“Gahahahaaaaaa!” screamed Malfoy from the ground, finding this entire piling of events so hilarious he just might die.
“Fuck!” yelled Death Eater Number One. With the disparate of attack of one who knew he would probably die as a result of this entire mess, Death Eater Number One viciously attacked Ron Weasely with the blunt end of his wand, smacking the boy on the back of the neck and head several times before he finally went down.
“Uh... Why didn't you just use, you know, magic?” asked Death Eater Number Two.
“I guess...” Death Eater Number One gasped out, “that I just didn't think!” he said agape at the damage he had done. Probably, he would die for this too.
“Ooh, my dear uke!” exclaimed Pettigrew deliriously falling over Ron's unconscious body like a pedophile on a baby carriage.
“Uke?” questioned Death Eater Number Two.
“That's what you are,” replied Death Eater Number Five easily.
“Ron! Is that you? What happened?” echoed a familiar voice from the direction of the front yard. It was Harry Potter.
“Okay, now Fuck,” commented Death Eater Number Five.
“Let's beat it! It's the fuzz!” exclaimed Death Eater Number Two, grabbing Death Eater Number One, who was currently in a spiral of depressing thoughts on death.
“Who says the Fuzz?” asked Death Eater Number Five sarcastically, grabbing Peter Pettigrew and Ron Weasely around the waists and holding tight.
“I have a better question. Is this really the time to be doing this?” asked the as of yet silent Death Eater Number Four, grasping the still guffawing Malfoy's arm and hauling him to his feet.
“No, I have a better one. Why don't you suck a dickhole?” asked Number Two.
“Agh! Just go!” yelled Number Five, disapparating in a flash and a crack.
“Oh, crap!” exclaimed Number Two, taking off after him.
“Sigh, yes. Yes, please leave me behind,” sighed Number Four, disinterestedly taking off after his comrades.
- - - - -
Harry Potter emerged into the quiet and slightly disturbed clearing behind the bushes of the pumpkin patch. He could have sworn that he had heard Ron exclaim something about birth control or something from around there.
Shrugging, the young hero brushed it off as anxiety about going all the way.
“Psh, come on Ron!” Harry yelled out in the general direction of the pond, which was the only placed he hadn't looked for his run-away Ron. “Don't be such a baby! It won't hurt that much!” Harry yelled, taking off to look further for his prospective rape victim.
Authoress' Note: Oh my. And, the drama builds. ;3
-Written by Sleep Remedy-
Chapter Two: Flight in the Night
It was a quiet night in the Borough. Crickets were chirping in the soft mid-summer night air. Little cabbage butterflies flitted silently from flower to flower, stealing succulent nectar and then drifting off into the woods surrounding the quaint home in search of more and better food. There was the croak of frogs echoing from a pond nearby and even the quiet splash of fish as they jumped and played in the pleasantly warm and clear pool.
Warm light flooded between the cracks of Mrs. Weasely's curtains onto obnoxiously green grass. The sound of happy voices conversing with one another could be heard from various areas of the home. In the kitchen, Fred and George enjoyed a seemingly serious talk about specially designed bottle rockets for the nostrils. Above the kitchen, the faint light of a bedside lamp fell through the windowpanes as Ginny happily read the newest of her numerous and highly classified Boy's Love novels. It was an especially good one about a pair of businessmen who were in love, but still attempting to maintain their professional lives. Girls apparently love that kind of angst. Just to the right, a softer and more muted light filtered through the slightly more frilly curtains of Mr. And Mrs. Weasely's room. They were having some quiet and hopefully undisturbed fun making their own little love story. Let's not get anymore detailed than that, shall we?
And, of course, our favorite little heroic wizards, Harry and Ron, were in the living room, crowded around the box that looked suspiciously like a magically powered rip-off television set. A tell tale announcer voice was shouting out amazing moves and scores in the same tone as any other announcer for any other game anywhere else in the world. Maybe they go to school to all talk like that? Either way, the two boys were watching a highly entertaining Quidditch game and were so intent on the “television” that they didn't even notice the soft, but unmistakable sounds emanating from directly above their heads from their two summertime guardians.
- - - - -
Outside of the Weasely residence, there was a rather obvious rustling of the bushes next to the pumpkin patch. From within the scant protection of the bushes, five or six Death Eaters pushed and shoved at one another in an attempt to get as close to the home without absolutely pummeling one another. Phrases such as, “Get the hell off me!” and “Stop touching me!” and “Get away! Your robe smells like pond scum!” as well as, “Well, duh! I fell in the pond!”
Thankfully, a resounding, “Shut Up!” silenced the crowd of imposing and terrifying wizards. “If you don't shut up right now,” the adolescent, yet commanding voice, yelled, “I'll turn around, we'll go home, and you can all tell the Lord why he doesn't have a forcefully inseminated child!” screamed Draco Malfoy, angrily placing his thin pale hands on his small pointed hips and jutting out his chin. He wasn't very threatening, but then again, the Death Eaters weren't all that hard to scare. At least, not this dozen or so. They fearfully shrank away from the adolescent before one, baring a yellow felt number one on his chest came forward.
“Master Malfoy,” he said, cautiously, “How exactly are we to accomplish this?” he asked tentatively.
“I have no idea,” the boy replied easily, running an easy hand through his hair and looking rather indifferent and dashing.
“W-what?” Death Eater number one asked in confusion.
“That's not my job. My job is to kidnap the Weasely prat and then hand him over to Pettigrew. Apparently, he also found a perfect spell to impregnate the guy,” Draco explained, shivering a little. He had heard second hand about the sex dolls. Though it put a deep fear in him to think of himself as an object of sex doll adulation, he was also quite happy to have sold well. He would much rather not be birthing a butt baby.
“I-I see! I humbly apologize for-” but, Death Eater Number One was abruptly cut off as a large mousy man appeared out of thin air with a large resounding crack.
“Dear Draco! Where is my most beloved subject!” Pettigrew exclaimed excitedly.
“We haven't gotten him yet. I was waiting for these dorks to catch up so that I could send them in to tear him from the house kicking and screaming,” Draco explained matter-of-factly.
“Dear Draco!” Pettigrew chided lightly, chuckling to himself and completely missing the aggravated twitch in Draco's wand hand that many younger wizards at Hogwarts could have and would have told the pathetic wizard was a hint at impending doom. “Draco, you mustn't tear a mother from her nest so insensitively! We must handle dear Ron with the utmost caution! After all, he is going to bare the Lord's child. That makes him a very important person.”
“Lucky him...” muttered Draco, almost feeling sorry for the Weasely kid, but not bad enough to not to laugh at him as he would when Ron had to waddle down the corridors of Hogwarts that year. “So! How do you propose we capture and impreg- uh, cast your spell on him?” Draco asked, tumbling over the word pregnancy as a pink dressed waddling Ron came back to the forefront of his mind.
“Well, of course, Ruffies!”
“... Am I allowed to laugh?” Death Eater Number One asked quietly.
Draco, who was already curled up in a ball at Pettigrew's feet laughing raucously could only nod and point and laugh harder at the dumpy little man before him.
“Why are you laughing?!” Peter asked indignantly, pouting and holding up the little vial of white pills. “The man on the corner assured me that these would make impregnating someone extremely easy.”
Draco Malfoy then began to hyperventilate and proceeded to lay on his side and laugh/gasp for breath uncontrollably.
“Sir, I believe those are a drug used only to knock out young muggle girls at Frat parties,” one of the more intelligent Death Eaters commented, feeling that his muggle studies had finally come in handy.
“Oh dear! So, then, this won't aid me in impregnating Ronald?” Pettigrew asked dejectedly.
“Impregnate?!” screamed/squeaked a most distressed and unsettled red head from behind them and just beyond the line of bushes.
“Oh,” expressed Pettigrew.
“Dear...” continued Death Eater Number Five.
“Gahahahaaaaaa!” screamed Malfoy from the ground, finding this entire piling of events so hilarious he just might die.
“Fuck!” yelled Death Eater Number One. With the disparate of attack of one who knew he would probably die as a result of this entire mess, Death Eater Number One viciously attacked Ron Weasely with the blunt end of his wand, smacking the boy on the back of the neck and head several times before he finally went down.
“Uh... Why didn't you just use, you know, magic?” asked Death Eater Number Two.
“I guess...” Death Eater Number One gasped out, “that I just didn't think!” he said agape at the damage he had done. Probably, he would die for this too.
“Ooh, my dear uke!” exclaimed Pettigrew deliriously falling over Ron's unconscious body like a pedophile on a baby carriage.
“Uke?” questioned Death Eater Number Two.
“That's what you are,” replied Death Eater Number Five easily.
“Ron! Is that you? What happened?” echoed a familiar voice from the direction of the front yard. It was Harry Potter.
“Okay, now Fuck,” commented Death Eater Number Five.
“Let's beat it! It's the fuzz!” exclaimed Death Eater Number Two, grabbing Death Eater Number One, who was currently in a spiral of depressing thoughts on death.
“Who says the Fuzz?” asked Death Eater Number Five sarcastically, grabbing Peter Pettigrew and Ron Weasely around the waists and holding tight.
“I have a better question. Is this really the time to be doing this?” asked the as of yet silent Death Eater Number Four, grasping the still guffawing Malfoy's arm and hauling him to his feet.
“No, I have a better one. Why don't you suck a dickhole?” asked Number Two.
“Agh! Just go!” yelled Number Five, disapparating in a flash and a crack.
“Oh, crap!” exclaimed Number Two, taking off after him.
“Sigh, yes. Yes, please leave me behind,” sighed Number Four, disinterestedly taking off after his comrades.
- - - - -
Harry Potter emerged into the quiet and slightly disturbed clearing behind the bushes of the pumpkin patch. He could have sworn that he had heard Ron exclaim something about birth control or something from around there.
Shrugging, the young hero brushed it off as anxiety about going all the way.
“Psh, come on Ron!” Harry yelled out in the general direction of the pond, which was the only placed he hadn't looked for his run-away Ron. “Don't be such a baby! It won't hurt that much!” Harry yelled, taking off to look further for his prospective rape victim.
Authoress' Note: Oh my. And, the drama builds. ;3