Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Pregnancy Can Be A Bitch ❯ "I Didn't Want Too, Mum!" ( Chapter 5 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Sleep Remedy 
No means no. Even in date rape.
(will our younger audience get this obscure reference? Probably not.)
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 12.08.2010 | Pages: 1 | Words: 664 | Visits: 388 | Status: Work In Progress
No means no. Even in date rape.
(will our younger audience get this obscure reference? Probably not.)
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 12.08.2010 | Pages: 1 | Words: 664 | Visits: 388 | Status: Work In Progress
Chapter Five:
Mrs. Weasley's face was long and haggard while she went about her daily morning duties, uneasy in the feeling that nothing much had changed. After the alarm had finally been successfully raised, all of her children and her husband had spent the entire night searching for her missing son. The ministry had eventually been called, then the aurors, when the disappearance had finally been confirmed. Neighbors from up and down their lonely road turned out to help the family in searching for her son. Even some muggles came forward to help, eager to assist their strange neighbors in finding their missing child.
Yet, lo and behold, Ron was nowhere to be found. Not in the pumpkin patch, not in the pond, not in the nearby fields, or down by the creek. He wasn't stuck in a tree or down in a ditch. He was nowhere on or near the roads, nor any of the tracks through the thin woodlands that lined the area. Nobody could see hide, nor hair, of him.
Finally, morning had dawned, the sun cresting over the horizon in a lazy motion that it had gone through since the birth of the universe and all of the searchers were called in to go home. They were thanked, and they consoled the broken family, but finally left for their own homes, thankful that they were intact. The Weasley's and Mr. Potter retreated into their homes exhausted, though sleep would not come.
Harry and the children were in the living room, staring blankly at the television rip off box while Mrs. Weasley's husband sat dejectedly at the kitchen table, an untouched cup of coffee in front of him. The ministry officials had promised to investigate further, but there was no point in searching any further. That they should go home and get some rest.
As if. Not a word had been said since everyone had returned to the house. Gloomy emotion hung like a cloud in every room, thick and heavy. Mrs. Weasley was no exception to the dark feelings. A thousand things had been running through her mind all night, but as the sun had dawned, she had simply surrendered all thought in favor of simply letting the feelings of sorrow and failure wash over her in slow, undulating waves.
In the same staggered manner that had punctuated all of her movements that day, Mrs. Weasley carried the rugs from the entrance hall out the front door to shake them out on the threshold. As she did so, a pathetic figure slowly approached her.
His clothes were torn and stretched, his hair mussed, and his bruised arms were wrapped around his small frame. There were hickies on his neck, and his face was a mask of pain, his mascara running down his cheeks in long rivulets, his lipstick smeared haphazardly.
Finally, Ron raised his head to look his mother in the face as she looked back, a picture of shock. Slowly, the ginger's face broke down into a mess of tears, following the mascara trail, his nose running and his chin dimpling with the strength of his sobs as he bolted towards his mother.
Mrs. Weasley took a step back as Ron barreled into her, still completely stunned by the state of her son. Ron sobbed into her shirt, a mumbled jumble of words spilling out. "I didn't want too, mum. I didn't want toooooo!"
Mrs. Weasley slowly comforted her son, even as she stared off into the space above his head, her head spinning even more than it had that previous night while considering all of the things that could have happened to her youngest son. Eventually, she was able to produce words, but all that came out were, "… What the fuck…?"
Chapter Six:
Dumbledore leaned in close, adjusting his glasses
Mrs. Weasley's face was long and haggard while she went about her daily morning duties, uneasy in the feeling that nothing much had changed. After the alarm had finally been successfully raised, all of her children and her husband had spent the entire night searching for her missing son. The ministry had eventually been called, then the aurors, when the disappearance had finally been confirmed. Neighbors from up and down their lonely road turned out to help the family in searching for her son. Even some muggles came forward to help, eager to assist their strange neighbors in finding their missing child.
Yet, lo and behold, Ron was nowhere to be found. Not in the pumpkin patch, not in the pond, not in the nearby fields, or down by the creek. He wasn't stuck in a tree or down in a ditch. He was nowhere on or near the roads, nor any of the tracks through the thin woodlands that lined the area. Nobody could see hide, nor hair, of him.
Finally, morning had dawned, the sun cresting over the horizon in a lazy motion that it had gone through since the birth of the universe and all of the searchers were called in to go home. They were thanked, and they consoled the broken family, but finally left for their own homes, thankful that they were intact. The Weasley's and Mr. Potter retreated into their homes exhausted, though sleep would not come.
Harry and the children were in the living room, staring blankly at the television rip off box while Mrs. Weasley's husband sat dejectedly at the kitchen table, an untouched cup of coffee in front of him. The ministry officials had promised to investigate further, but there was no point in searching any further. That they should go home and get some rest.
As if. Not a word had been said since everyone had returned to the house. Gloomy emotion hung like a cloud in every room, thick and heavy. Mrs. Weasley was no exception to the dark feelings. A thousand things had been running through her mind all night, but as the sun had dawned, she had simply surrendered all thought in favor of simply letting the feelings of sorrow and failure wash over her in slow, undulating waves.
In the same staggered manner that had punctuated all of her movements that day, Mrs. Weasley carried the rugs from the entrance hall out the front door to shake them out on the threshold. As she did so, a pathetic figure slowly approached her.
His clothes were torn and stretched, his hair mussed, and his bruised arms were wrapped around his small frame. There were hickies on his neck, and his face was a mask of pain, his mascara running down his cheeks in long rivulets, his lipstick smeared haphazardly.
Finally, Ron raised his head to look his mother in the face as she looked back, a picture of shock. Slowly, the ginger's face broke down into a mess of tears, following the mascara trail, his nose running and his chin dimpling with the strength of his sobs as he bolted towards his mother.
Mrs. Weasley took a step back as Ron barreled into her, still completely stunned by the state of her son. Ron sobbed into her shirt, a mumbled jumble of words spilling out. "I didn't want too, mum. I didn't want toooooo!"
Mrs. Weasley slowly comforted her son, even as she stared off into the space above his head, her head spinning even more than it had that previous night while considering all of the things that could have happened to her youngest son. Eventually, she was able to produce words, but all that came out were, "… What the fuck…?"
Chapter Six:
Dumbledore leaned in close, adjusting his glasses